A collection of one-shots for The Houses Competition
by spittingllama7856
Summary: A collection of one shots for The Houses Competition. More chapters will be added for each new prompt from The Houses Competition. Each chapter is not connected to the others in any way and each has it's own timeline. Most have a paring, some don't. Warnings are included in each chapter.
1. The Love Potion

**Hello, readers! This was written for The Houses Competition. My house: Hufflepuff. Category: Short Story. Prompt: Playing the piano. Word count: 2,055. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter! Happy reading!**

Draco Malfoy stood by the piano in Malfoy Manor, running his fingers over the dusty keys. It had been a long time since he'd played, since he'd been in this room even.

He spent most of his days in the library, or his bedroom, where his meals were brought to him. He didn't want to see any of the portraits on the walls, or the dark red stains on the floor in the dining room. They were markings of a time when wrong was right. When it seemed to be the only option.

He sighed, and slid down onto the bench, staring at the grand piano. He brought his left hand up, and lightly played a few keys, not expecting to be as good as he once was. He lifted his other hand, feeling he would may as well try. He played a chord, and tilted his head to the side. He felt the oncoming memory of a piece his mother used to love.

It could have been a minute, or maybe a few hours, but he played what he could remember. It wasn't perfect, and he messed it up more than once.

His eyes were closed, and his head was bowed, it felt soothing to play again. Like, just for once, he was alone without any worry or fear. He slowly opened his eyes, and glanced around the room, looking for his sheet music.

Narcissa Malfoy was reading the Daily Prophet in the study, one eyebrow raised at the recent gossip. She sipped her tea and turned the page. She was putting her empty mug down when she heard a few delicate noted pierce the air. She nearly broke the china set when she jumped. It had been years since she heard the piano in her house be played. It certainly wasn't Lucius, he despised music, and it definitely wasn't a house elf. She chuckled at the thought of her servant trying to reach the pedals and play at the same time. Draco would be the only one able to play.

She stood up, and then tiptoed to the living room, not wanting to scare her son or stop him from playing. She poked her head into the doorway, and saw him bent over the keys. His blond hair covered his face, and his long, thin fingers danced clumsily on the notes.

He would make a great suitor. He was attractive enough, even if he was extremely pale. Narcissa shook herself. Somehow, her thoughts always ended up on his lack of a wife. She didn't want to think of that right now.

Draco looked so peaceful, so relaxed. He wasn't nearly as good as he was before the war, but he wasn't bad, either. She recognised the piece, and she smiled. He knew it was her favourite. She felt her eyes water when she thought of how he used to be. Her smile fell. It was hard to think about the way he was, now.

Draco was thin, and he barely ate. He spent most of his time reading, cooped up in his room, away from life and light. It was a rare occasion that he spoke, and every time, his words were very clipped and snappish. He was so unlike her little boy. He was forced to grow up too fast, and now he was bitter and scarred. Her heart clenched at the sight of the tension in his shoulders, and his tense arms. He was so unhappy.

He stood from his spot, and made his way to a shelf by the fireplace. There were hundreds of tunes, all waiting to be played. He plucked one up and went back to the elegant instrument. This was the first song he played for his father's friends. It was when he was seven, and it was the night he met Blaise and Pansy. He smiled at the memory, and quickly opened the music.

Narcissa was starting to get an ache in her legs from standing in the position she was. It had been two hours since she had watched her son pick a melody from many others. She should've gone in and told him he was an amazing player, and amazing son. But, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. His hair fell over his eyes, and it glinted silver in the moonlight pouring through the windows. His slender fingers weren't as hesitant as before, and his mouth was turned into a small smile. It had been forever since she'd seen him this way. There were no lines of worry etched on his forehead. His eyes were full of passion and a light she never saw before. They didn't carry the sorrow they normally did. She knew he regretted everything he did in the war, but she never realised how much it affected him. She saw it now, now that it was gone. Funny how that works.

Lucius handed his gloves to the nearest elf, the haunting and sorrowful sounds of a ditty filled the air. It was faint, but made his blood boil nevertheless. He strode towards the living room with purpose, preparing to yell at whoever played the forgotten instrument inside. When he was ten feet from the doors, he saw his wife, bent in an indecent position, staring intently at the source of the music. He scowled and walked up to her.

"Narci-" she cut him off and covered his mouth with her hand. He was furious and was about to yell at her when she pointed at the living room and made a shushing gesture.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced in and saw his son, his only and practically voiceless son, creating the sounds. He normally didn't approve of his son's liking of the piano, but Draco was smiling. He was completely absorbed in the music, and he was actually outside of his room. It was a miracle. In fact, Lucius hadn't seen him in days and almost forgot he lived in the Manor.

Lucius sighed and ducked back into the safety of the hall. Narcissa was beaming, and it lit her whole face up.

"Isn't it wonderful, Lucius?" She asked, grabbing his hands. He slowly nodded.

"How long has he been in there?" He whispered. She glanced at the clock and blinked in surprise.

"Two hours. I've been standing here for two hours," she whispered, not believing it herself. The smooth, connected notes stopped abruptly. They heard footsteps come their way, but were paralysed. Draco walked into the hallway, and they saw he was back to himself. His same gloomy, depressed self.

"Hello, mother, father. It's good to see you two in such good spirits," and with that, he walked away, back into the shadows. Narcissa bit her quivering lip, and swallowed the hope she had that he would be just as happy as he was before. A tear escaped the corner of her eye.

"He'll never be the same again, will he?" She whispered, and Lucius hugged her. She sobbed against his chest. Their only child would never marry. He would never follow in his father's footsteps.

They decided to take matters into their own hands, and it would be fairly easy. All they had to do was find someone willing enough to do it, even if the results would be fake. Even if he would never be as happy with that witch as he was when he played the piano.

Draco sat across from three witches. His mother had called him down, told him to go back up and change into something "presentable," and then told him to go to the living room. He was peeved by the time he got there, and furious by the time be sat down. He knew it was coming, but he still didn't want to choose a wife. Especially not when the choices were Astoria Greengrass, Hermione Granger, and Tracey Davis.

Apparently, Hermione was led into the home under the impression that she would be discussing the accusations of Lucius bating muggles, again. Tracey and Astoria were there to become Mrs Malfoy.

Draco stared down at the three coldly, and Hermione glared back. Why on Earth they thought Hermione would be a good choice was a mystery to him. Tracey and Astoria batted their eyes. Draco rolled his own.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Hermione crossed her legs and leaned back into her seat, arms crossed. Narcissa suddenly appeared with a tray of tea and pumpkin pasties. Astoria jumped up and rushed over to her.

"Here, let me help!" She grabbed the tray and set it down on the table behind the couch. Narcissa smiled and left the room. "How will you three take your tea?" She asked, preparing her own.

"I'm fine, thanks," Hermione said sarcastically. Astoria sneered at her, no doubt wanting to tell her that no one wanted the opinion of a mudblood like her.

"Just give it to me as it is," Draco said, barely opening his mouth. Astoria handed him the tea, that was laced with love potion, and it went unnoticed by everyone, except Hermione.

"Hold on a second!" She said, grabbing his tea and pouring it out into a vase of flowers. "She put something in it. Something pink," she looked satisfied.

Draco scowled and looked at Astoria.

"Is this true?" He asked, his gaze unwavering.

"You're seriously going to believe her? A mudblood?" Astoria laughed, and Hermione stood, huffing.

"Fine, then. I'll leave! It's clear that I'm not welcome here!" Hermione said. Draco's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"No. Ms Greengrass," he put stress on her name, "was just leaving," Hermione sat back down, this time beside Draco. His grip on her wrist was strong. Astoria growled and slammed a spoon into the tea, making it splash all over the expensive wooden table.

"You'll regret this, Draco," she spat before storming out if the house. Tracey looked alarmed. She stood and said goodbye to the other two. Astoria would probably decorate Malfoy Manor with mud if left unattended. Hermione sighed and tried to leave, too, but Draco had other ideas.

"I'm sorry about that," he said. He regretted what his aunt did to her, so he'd been trying to be nicer to her on the days she met with his father. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"If I took every insult to heart, I'd be curled up in a ball on my bed, eating licorice wands and chocolate frogs," she snorted. She stood and made her way across the room, admiring the decor. Her hands ran over the piano. Draco just watched her.

"Do you play?" She asked.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Can I see you?" She asked. She was actually surprised that he could play it, he didn't seem like the type. He shrugged and sat on the bench.

"It's been a while, okay? Don't laugh," he said, straightening the music in front of him. At first, he was slow, trying to ignore Hermione's eyes on him. Eventually, he fell into it, the outside world a blur to him, nothing else was of importance. But he did notice when Hermione sat down next to him and played along with him. His grey eyes met her chocolate ones, and she blushed, looking back at the keys.

He stopped playing, suddenly overwhelmed by how close they were, by her scent. He wasn't used to touching people, but when he touched her, he got a jolt of pleasure from it. She looked up at him, since when did he get so tall? Her breathing quickened, her heart wasn't supposed to flutter when her eyes met his. She was married to Ron. She was pregnant. But Ron didn't look like Draco did, he didn't understand what it was to feel haunted like Draco did. So, she didn't stop him from kissing her.

Narcissa was about to walk into the living room when she saw Draco kissing one of the girls. She smiled, and hid behind the doors, not at all prepared for said girl to run away from Draco, screaming her apologies. Narcissa poked her head in and looked at Draco.

"Greengrass it is," she heard him say, his face in his hands. He saw Hermione's ring before he kissed her. He was just as bad as Astoria.


	2. The Letter

**This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **Description: Draco receives an eye-opening letter from Hermione. This leads to the breaking of both their hearts.**

 **My house: Hufflepuff. Category: Drabble. Prompt: "I didn't mean that." Word Count: 527. Dramione. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Happy reading!**

Draco Malfoy sat in front of the fireplace in the apartment that he shared with his girlfriend. He was swirling a glass of amber liquid, his thoughts wandering to the person he loved most in the world. He downed the Firewhiskey, staring bitterly at the letter in his other hand.

The neat writing on the paper made accusations he'd never heard from her before. "Death Eater," "Dark wizard," "Never as good." He scoffed, throwing the parchment into the fire.

Hermione Granger stuck her key into the lock of her apartment door and, after a moment of hesitation, she unlocked it and went in. She sighed, and let the keys fall into the bowl by the door. She didn't bother to take off her shoes as she made her way to the living room.

Draco was sitting on the couch, his long legs draping over the armrest. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her, his pale hair covering his delicate eyelashes.

"Draco," Hermione said, sitting on another chair beside him. "Look at me." He turned his head to her, not meeting her eyes. Instead, he focused on some point behind her left ear.

"Granger," he didn't betray any emotion in his voice, and his face was stony. The room was dark, the slivers of moonlight only showed the edges of happy photos. Hermione summoned up her courage, remembering when she and Draco posed for each one.

"I didn't mean what I wrote. I didn't mean that," she finally said, breaking the cold silence that wrapped around her heart.

"Well, it's already done. I know how you feel, now. It's better I found out now before-" he broke off, and looked at the glass he was still clutching.

"Before what?" Hermione whispered, grasping at the little hope in the back of her mind.

"It doesn't matter now. I'm just a Death Eater, aren't I? Nowhere near as good as Potter or Weasel," Draco spat. Hermione licked her lips and slid to the edge of her seat to be closer to him.

"I didn't mean that, Draco!" She said fiercely, trying to grab his hand. He pulled away from her and stood. He reached into his pocket, fumbling.

"Yes, Hermione. And you meant everything else you wrote in it, too. Unless you were under the Imperius curse, you wrote what you felt. I'm just glad that I found out before this," he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, opened it, and put it on the table. Hermione gasped. An engagement ring sat neatly between the folds.

She looked up at Draco. He was staring down at her with that same cold look, he used when they were in school. When she was just a mudblood. "Goodbye, Hermione Granger," and with that, he turned away from her and strode out the door. She broke down in sobs, falling down on the floor. What had she done? She didn't know that on the other side of the wall, Draco wasn't bothering to stem the flow of tears coming from his own eyes. Why had Hermione written what she had? Why did she break his heart? Why did he break hers?


	3. Snape's Thoughts

**This is written for The Houses Competition. House: Hufflepuff. Category: Themed. Prompt: Acceptance. Word Count: 880.**

Severus Snape sat at the Hogwarts staff table, staring at the first years that filed in through the door to his left. His eyes swept through the group, looking for a child resembling Lily. He scanned the students for red hair, green eyes, anything like her.

He found one child, definitely not Lily's son, but then he saw the jet- black, untidy hair. His blood ran cold and boiled at the same time. The boy was the spitting image of his arrogant, foolish, father. The boy's face turned to him, and Snape's breath caught. His eyes were just like those of his mother, but they were not nearly as intelligent as hers were, nor were they as beautiful. Snape scowled, dispelling the unpleasant, yet amazing memories from his mind. He knew that the day would come when the young Potter would arrive at Hogwarts, but he was hoping he would look more like Lily. In fact, he knew that Potter's spawn would arrive on this day. However, Severus made a promise to protect him.

That night, Severus pulled out an old photo he hadn't looked at in a while. Lily Evans was waving at the camera, and was gesturing for a younger Severus to sit with her. He obliged, rather reluctantly, and she dragged him to a bench. She sat next to his sulking frame and pulled him into a hug. Severus blushed and tried to push her away, but Lily held him tighter. They were thirteen when the photo was taken.

Snape sighed, putting it back into the drawer, not wanting to remember but knowing he was already too deep into the memories.

He put his face in his hands, letting everything wash over him in icy cold waves. But then, it was like a small fire had been lit in the pit of his stomach, growing in intensity and size, until it completely engulfed him, leaving him a sobbing heap of a man in a worn chair.

He seemed to forget who he was, seemed to forget where he was, and that he would have to put on a mask and master a façade moments from now, if only to convince himself that everything was okay.

Lily and Severus were sitting under a tree by the Black Lake at Hogwarts, each absorbed in their own world. At least, Lily was. Severus was too busy studying her to pay much attention to what he was doing, which was scribbling random lines onto a piece of parchment. He took a deep breath, summoning up the courage to speak to her.

"So, I heard an interesting rumor today, Lily," he said nonchalantly. Lily didn't look up from her book.

"Hm?" she asked, still not looking at him. He scooted closer to her.

"People have been saying that we're a couple! Can you believe it?" he asked, carefully watching as her head shot up and looked at him, disbelieving.

"What? No," Lily said, shaking her head.

"Why?" Severus asked. "Is it so horrible to know that some people think we like each other?" He joked, trying to cover up the hurt in his voice.

"Yes! I mean-" she huffed, "us? Together? There's no way that we'd ever like each other like that! That's just gross!" Lily said, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah! That's really gross, Lily. Took the words right out of my mouth," Severus said, looking back at his parchment. He bit his lip. At this moment, James and his friends showed up, laughing at Severus. Lily took to his defense, and then things went very badly. James used a spell that dangled Severus in the air by his ankle, and bullied him, pulling his pants down. Lily got James to put him down, Severus ran to the school, and Lily wasn't able to keep up with him. When Severus finally stopped, he cried. But not all of his tears were because of what James did. Lily had broken his heart. Lily had ripped it out and stomped over it with her tiny little feet.

Now, Severus Snape composed himself and reminded himself that he'd long ago accepted Lily's unreciprocated feelings, and her death. He put on his mask again, and went to sleep.

The next day, taking roll of the students in each class, Severus only paused on the name "Harry Potter," as if to see how it sounded on his lips. It felt all wrong, like it wasn't supposed to sound right, when Harry Potter was Lily's son. But it did, it sounded right to him. Snape almost kept going down the list, but one look at Harry and Snape's blood boiled. It would be easy to hate him if he didn't look too closely at him.

Many years later, Snape was dying, bleeding out, and suddenly there he was, Harry Potter. Snape allowed himself to say what he'd been denying for years.

"You have your mother's eyes," Snape said, finally able to say it. Maybe he would see Lily, and maybe Harry would accept the love Snape had for him. He would never know if he did, though.

All he could do was hope beyond hope. Hope that Harry would understand, and hope that Harry would accept his death, too. Because that was the only thing he could do.


	4. With Care

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition!**

 **Summary: Harry finds himself at ease for once, and it just so happens that Luna is by his side. Harry has to thank Nargles for the sudden realization of his feelings for the blond. Huna, Rated K+**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "You're so weird, it's attractive."**

 **Word count: 898**

Luna Lovegood lost her shoes again. She was so sure that nargles were behind it, but now she was starting to suspect it was the Umgubular Slashkilters. At the moment, she was wandering around the castle, hoping to find her shoes.

"Hey, Luna," said Harry, appearing beside her.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Luna said dreamily, not at all surprised to see Harry pull off an invisibility cloak. She noticed that he wore it often, and she knew why. He did lose his godfather, after all. Not everyone would understand, but Luna knew what it was like to have everyone whisper about you.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, stuffing the cloak in his bag. He looked down at her bare feet. "Where are your shoes?"

"They're gone again. I suspect Nargles are behind it," she nodded seriously. Harry felt himself relax at her side. She didn't judge, and that was something Harry found refreshing. Even Hermione wasn't completely without judgment.

"Do you want help finding them?" Harry asked, actually wanting to spend more time with her.

"That would be nice," Luna said, and started walking again, Harry following her movement.

He couldn't help but notice the way her long hair fell down her back and caught the light. After a minute or two, Harry realized he was staring, and immediately looked up. Hanging from the ceiling were a pair of red shoes.

"Are those yours?" Harry asked, pointing to them. Luna followed his finger, and she smiled at him, her eyes misty.

"Yes, they are. I'm sorry about your godfather, Harry," she said abruptly. He was surprised that he didn't feel the usual clenching of his stomach when she mentioned Sirius. He didn't feel the anger or the despair he normally felt when someone mentioned his death. Maybe it was because Luna seemed to know exactly what he was feeling, and she had faced the same thing before. It was comforting and sad all at the same time that she knew what he was going through.

"Thanks, Luna," Harry said, stuffing his thumbs into his pockets. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the shoes. "Here, let me," Harry said. He raised he wand. "Accio shoes." He caught the pair and handed them to Luna. His hand brushed hers, and he felt a little jolt at the touch.

He looked down at her, memorizing the dreamy expression that always seemed to be on her face.

"Thank you, Harry. I have to be on the lookout for nargles, because otherwise they'll run off with things," Luna said. Harry looked into her eyes, and he stomach tightened uncomfortably. He gulped as she smiled up at him: since when did he get so tall?

"Er, Luna?" Harry asked nervously, shifting on his feet.

"Yes?" She asked in her melodic voice. She blinked at him innocently.

"I…" his breath caught in his chest. What did he want to ask her? He hadn't thought that part out.

"You have nice eyes," Luna said, and Harry blinked in confusion.

"Oh," Harry managed.

"Was that too weird? Was that not a good time to compliment you?" Luna asked, looking at him worriedly. He was startled to see her like that. He couldn't help but grin at her question, though, and he suddenly knew why he felt so uneasy despite her comforting presence.

"No, Luna. In fact, you- you're so weird, it's attractive," Harry said, and then he leaned down and kissed her. She surprised Harry by immediately kissing him back.. He cupped her cheek with his hand, and his other went around her waist.

Her lips were soft against his, and her hands went to his shoulders. She slowly pulled away from him, smiling. His heart melted when he saw Luna, who he unconsciously thought of as _his_ Luna. He felt like he needed to protect her from everyone that whispered and spread rumors about her, but he also realized that she was his shield, too.

She was always there to tell him about wrackspurts or nargles to distract him from the stares. She was there to offer him seemingly odd advice, advice he often found himself thinking about. She was his buffer without him knowing it.

As this hit him, he pulled her small body into a hug. Her arms wrapped around his slim body, and she held onto him for dear life. He put an arm around shoulders, holding her tightly. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of earth and breezes.

"You have nice eyes, too," he said softly, stroking her hair. He felt her laugh against him. His heart swelled, he loved that sound.

"Could we do that again?" Luna asked, her dreamy voice muffled by his chest. Harry grinned, and lifted her head with his finger, lightly brushing his lips against hers.

Hermione rounded the corner, bickering with Ron.

"I wonder where Harry is…" She trailed off, her jaw open. Ron bumped into her, grunting.

"What-" he cut off when he saw what stopped her, a boy that was surely Harry was kissing a girl that had to be Luna. Hermione shoved him behind a pillar with her hand over his mouth.

"Hush!" She hissed. They peered out behind their hiding place, spying on them. Hermione felt a blush come on, and wished suddenly for someone to hold her like Harry held Luna. With care.


	5. Red

**This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short story**

 **Prompt: Red**

 **Word count: 2858**

 **A/N: I know that this is the third Dramione story I've written for The Houses Competition, but I just couldn't help myself. It was kind of depressing, writing this. This is rated T. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!**

Hermione laid down on her back, with her brown hair splayed on the damp grass under her head. She opened her eyes to the stars, breathing in the chilly night air. It bit at her skin, sharp and unapologetic, raising Goosebumps and sending shivers down her spine. She couldn't feel her toes, and her fingers were numb in the cool, bitter air of the night.

Hermione closed her eyes at the twinkling stars. The headache she had earlier was reduced into a dull throb. She sighed; she had welcomed the pain, it was better than the sharp stabs in her heart and the twisting of her stomach.

She had stopped crying a while ago, but she felt the need rising stronger than she could've expected. She felt her tears run down the side of her face, they were icy and freezing, but she refused to acknowledge them.

She turned her head against the harsh winds picking up on the lawn. The trees wailed, and Hermione could almost imagine that they were echoing her own sobs from years ago. She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts from her head. Then she sniffed, the memories poking at her through the walls she had built around herself.

She exhaled the breath that she had been holding, and she finally let herself succumb to the pressure behind her eyes. Her cries were muffled by the storm picking up around her. She didn't care that she was in the middle of a bone-chilling, sick-inducing storm. Nor did she care that she was being pelted with hard raindrops, frosty and unrelenting. They stung her exposed skin, stabbing like little pinpricks and needles.

Hermione found herself remembering the day everything went wrong. The day where everything was red. Red, like the blood of the battle, red, like the last rose he gave her. Red, like the loss that stung her every day.

She had imagined a life where she would pick up a blond, curly-haired child, and he would hold her and giggle. He would say that daddy was looking for her, and Hermione would walk with the boy on her hip until she neared a house. Their house, she recognised.

She'd set the boy down and she would see the glint of a ring on her finger. The boy would run into the house and drag out a smiling man. The man she knew so well, the man she'd grown to love. She would smile and kiss him lightly, before walking with her son and her husband into the house, her swollen stomach making her waddle. The man would lean down and whisper how much he loved her into her ear, and she would smirk and say- "I know, Draco."

And then she would feel the baby kick, and put her hand over the baby girl. And her son would run up and press his ear over her stomach and giggle.

"Little sister!" He would say, and Draco would chuckle, ruffling his hair.

But Hermione always woke up after she dreamt those dreams, reaching over in the bed to touch Draco, only to realize he wasn't there. She could feel the cool bed sheets under her fingers, and her smile would slip from her face. Then, she would remember the blood, bright and horrifying. Then, she would cry.

 _The day she felt the pains and cramps in her stomach, was the one day he wasn't there to comfort her. The blood and tissue spilled from her, all over the bed sheets and her clothes. It pooled around her and she couldn't get out of bed, sobs and pain wracking her body._

 _She had called out for Draco, but he wasn't there. The bed was empty, and she was alone to her thoughts and agony._

 _She called for Mrs. Weasley, who found her hysterical, covered in her own crimson blood._

 _"Lost the baby…"_

 _"Poor thing…"_

 _"Hermione… Draco… Gone…"_

Hermione heard the voices exchanged between Mrs. Weasley and Fred. Fred, who was saved by Draco. Hermione didn't want to hate him, but that didn't matter. She did, and was reminded of that as her skin turned an awful pink and her lips were blue.

She let that thought go, grasping onto another memory of Draco before his death.

 _She saw the rose before her, like a beacon of light and hope in the small world of hate and agony. She took it from Draco's outstretched hand, falling into the memory._

 _Hermione brought the rose to her nose, smiling as Draco held onto her waist, kissing her temple._

 _"Happy one-year anniversary, Granger," he whispered into her ear._

 _"Likewise, Malfoy," Hermione grinned, rubbing one of the petals between her fingers. She was aware of Draco's thumbs rubbing comforting circles around her hips. She sighed and leaned back into him, resting her head on his chest. He kissed her cheek._

 _Draco buried his face in her neck and she giggled, as he breathed in her scent of lavender and honey, forever etching her smiling face into his memory._

 _"I love you, Granger," Draco whispered._

 _"I love you, too, Malfoy," Hermione said, feeling content with her life. The sun shone down on Draco and Hermione, standing in the sand by the Black Lake. Hermione felt warm and fuzzy inside. She crushed a petal between her fingers when Draco nibbled on the sensitive behind her ear. Her fingers were stained red from all the rose petals she pressed between her fingers that afternoon._

Hermione gasped, forcing her eyes open to the rain. The sobs that wracked her body left her an exhausted heap in the storm. Sleet was starting to fall over her prone body, and she shook with the cold and anger bubbling deep within her. She was sure she had frostbite, not that she minded.

She didn't know what to do without him. Without Draco, she was just Hermione Granger, book-worm and motherly, without him she wasn't special. She wasn't loved like she was when she had him by her side. No one was there to wake her up by licking her ear in the morning, or to cut her hair while she was sleeping.

Without Draco, she didn't have someone to argue with, without the other one taking the words she said personally. Without Draco, Hermione was just Hermione- The girl that took your fanged-frisbees and was the top of her class. No one saw her the way Draco had.

He was her competition, her lover, her fighter, her challenge, her friend. He was the shoulder to cry on even if he had no idea why she was upset, and he wouldn't press her for information if she didn't want to talk. He sometimes understood what was happening and how you were feeling before everyone else. Other times, he was clueless and lost, but he would hide it well.

He was full of surprises, too. She remembered the day after she became Draco's girlfriend, when she had expected him to be hush-hush about their relationship.

Draco walked over to the Gryffindor table and stood on top of it, kicking plates and bowls out of the way. He marched down the table to where Hermione sat and drew out his wand.

 _"Sonorus," Draco said, pointing his wand at his throat. Everyone was watching him, including Hermione, who was beet red. He locked eyes with her, and she worriedly chewed her lip, making him smirk. "Hermione Granger, would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" Draco asked, making sure everyone could hear. Harry and Ron were outraged, and looked like they were about to hex him. The rest of the Gryffindors were looking around the same way._

 _The Ravenclaws looked at them quizzically, except for Luna, who was smiling dreamily at Hermione. Hermione looked up at Draco, and she saw, (even know she was pretty sure no one else did,) that he was nervous, and hopeful. After what seemed like forever, and Hermione finally got her limbs to work, she jumped up and hugged him._

 _Silence met them, but they didn't care. Luna was the first to do something._

 _"Finally," she said, her voice carrying through the Great Hall._

 _Ginny started clapping, followed by the twins and then Harry, who was confused but smiling. After no time, everyone was applauding, except for the Slytherins and Ron. Draco smirked at him and shifted his foot slightly, knocking over Ron's pumpkin juice. He was spluttering and a puce that could rival Harry's uncle._

Hermione wasn't just Hermione when she was with Draco, Draco made her feel as if she could do anything, like she was amazing. He made her feel like she was floating on air, and like it didn't matter what she did because she could do no wrong.

So now, she had no clue what to do. She wasn't on clouds anymore, she wasn't in the right all the time. She made mistakes that everyone forgiven her for. When Draco was with her, he never forgave her, because in his eyes she didn't do anything wrong; she was perfect. And he loved her.

 _Hermione was curled up in his bed with a book in her hands. Draco was lying across from her, studying her as she bit her lip in concentration._

 _They had just been sitting there for an hour, laying down on his silver bed sheets. Sunlight was pouring in through the open windows, warming their bodies. They were fully clothed, much to Hermione's relief. She was a little worried when he invited her into his room, and when he sat in front of her on the bed, but he hadn't tried anything. She wasn't ready for that, and he didn't push her._

 _He was stroking her cheek with his knuckles, watching as she sighed happily._

 _"Granger," he said softly. Her eyes flicked up to him, then back at the book. His eyes were intense and she couldn't quite place the look in them. Passion? Dare she hope- Love?_

 _"Hmm?" She asked, not really trusting herself to form words._

 _"Granger, look at me, please," Draco said, using that voice she rarely heard. He was pleading with her, though he didn't know she knew. She shut her book slowly, finishing the page she was on._

 _"Yes, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, trying to sound irritated. She was smiling, though, so the effect was different than she wanted._

 _"I want to tell you something. Something I've never told anyone before," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Her heart fluttered._

 _"Yes?" She breathed, and his hand cupped her cheek._

 _"I love you, Hermione," he said quietly. After a few seconds of silence, Draco added, "You're supposed to say something, now."_

 _"I- Draco, I love you, too," she said, using his first for once. His breath caught, and suddenly he was kissing her. His lips were soft and patient, so unlike himself. He was soft and kind, unhurried and caring. She liked this side of him._

 _"Thank you," he whispered against her lips. She smirked- and he suddenly wondered if he was rubbing off on her._

 _"I don't think that's what you're supposed to say after someone expresses their love for you. But, you're welcome, Malfoy," Hermione chuckled, but Draco wasn't having it._

 _"Granger, I'm serious. I don't know what I would do without you," Draco said, and she smiled._

 _"I don't know either, Malfoy," Hermione whispered. Draco pulled her closer so that their foreheads were touching, and their eyes were locked. Grey eyes with small silver flakes almost impossible to see. Brown eyes, ringed with barely noticeable shades of brown. Toffee and chocolate and chestnut._

 _He kissed her forehead and she turned so that her back was pressed against him. His arm was around her waist, and she reopened her book. Her eyes grew heavy as she listened to his even breathing, and his body was warm against hers. It wasn't long until she was asleep._

 _Draco smiled at her and plucked the book from her limp hands. He drew the blanket over them and felt himself relax. He closed his eyes, not quite asleep but not awake, either._

Hermione remembered the day she found out Draco had died. She walked into Hogwarts, staring at the once grand hallways that were now covered with dust and blood. She was expecting to find Draco, standing in a corner, his face grave and unhappy. She was in no way prepared to find him on a stretcher, with no one by his side. His face was so peaceful.

At first, she just stared at him blankly, not really knowing why he was there by himself, or why he was covered in blood. She sat by his side, on her knees and pale. She knew it before Harry came up to her to hug her. She knew that the last time he'd seen her, he refused to kiss her goodbye because he was sure he was coming back.

He'd convinced her to stay in the Room of Requirement. "If not for your own safety, then for Scorpius's." Draco had said, and he rubbed her stomach before leaving her with Tonks, who eventually left, too. Hermione had stayed and watched Teddy for her.

Hermione found herself covering Draco's body as if to protect him from more harm. She didn't feel the sobs, but she heard them. Heard how broken and angry she sounded. But she knew that no one was listening because her cries were mixed with countless others.

Four years later, Hermione was having a hard time breathing on the lawn of her house. She was shivering, freezing, but on fire. Her eyes were rolling back into her head when she felt someone pull her back into her house. A flash of black hair, worried voices, strong hands. Her vision went dark.

She woke up hours later in St. Mungo's, that much she knew. She looked around the room, finding her skin stiff and puffy. She looked at her hands, and saw that they were swollen and purple. She glanced at the people on either side of the bed, feeling sluggish and weary.

"Draco?" Hermione asked, spotting someone with blond hair. Everyone stirred. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Luna. Oh. It was Luna, not Draco. It made her sad and achy inside.

"Hermione? Oh, thank god, you're awake. What were you thinking?" Demanded Ginny. Luna put her hand over the red-head's fist and shook her head.

"It's over with, now. Why she did it doesn't matter. How are you feeling Hermione?" Luna said, directing the last part to Hermione.

"I've been better," Hermione croaked, and Ron laughed tentatively. Harry shared a weak smile with his wife. Ginny took Harry's hand and squeezed it in a reassuring way.

"Hermione, we thought that you were getting better. That you were getting over _his_ death," Ron said quietly, and everyone looked shocked. Even Luna, who was normally unfazed, shot Ron a look.

"Ron, if Lavender died, what would you do? If Ginny II died, what would you do?" Hermione asked quietly, and Ron looked at his feet. "I can't forget! Every time I go to sleep, do you know what I dream about?"

Ron shook his head and Hermione continued, "I dream about a little boy with curly blond hair running up to me. I dream that he brings me from the beach up to a little wooden house on the edge of the sand. I dream that I have a ring on my left ring finger, and that I'm pregnant with a little girl that I'll never have! And Draco's right beside me the whole time, helping me cook dinner for our four-year-old boy!" Hermione confessed, and she broke into tears. Ginny wiped the tears off Hermione's face, shooting a glare to Ron. Ron got the hint and left, muttering his apologies and goodbyes. Luna took Hermione's hand.

"I know how you feel, Hermione. I know that it hurts so much," Luna said. Harry quietly excused himself from Hermione's side. "I know that when people say that it gets better, and that you'll move on it hurts, and it makes you angry. I know that you don't want to move on. And I find myself wondering what I should say, but I really don't know," Luna said softly. This was the most serious and sane she'd ever sounded. Hermione looked at her, her mind reeling with the truths Luna spoke.

"We love you, Hermione. If you ever need anything, we're here," Ginny said, grabbing Hermione's puffy hand.

"Well, there is one thing," Hermione said, a small smile on her face.

"What is it?"

"Could you remove anything red and gold from my apartment? I prefer green and-" Hermione said, only partially joking, when Luna interrupted.

"Silver. Green and silver," Luna said wistfully. "I've always liked the color combination," Luna said, back to her loony self.

Ginny laughed. "I like my red hair, thanks."

"Yeah," Hermione said, thinking of all the red things she went over in her head hours before. Red, like the blood of the battle. Red, like the last rose he gave her. Red, like the loss that stung her every day. And now, Ginny's fiery red hair.


	6. Maybe today

Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition!(duh…) This is rated K+.

House: Hufflepuff

Category: Themed

Prompt: "The Forgotten Child."

Word count: 833

Neville took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe today they would run to him and hug him. They would hold him and whisper how sorry they were for leaving him alone for so long. Maybe today would be the day.

Neville pushed open the doors to the long-term patients wing of St. Mungo's. He walked down the hallway to the place that was both the subject of his nightmares and his greatest desires. He sighed, then slowly made his way to the open door at the end of the corridor.

There was a weight in his chest, heavy and unyielding. His mouth was dry, and his free hand clenched and unclenched at his side. In the back of his mind, he was hoping without reason that their faces would light up when they saw him.

He ducked into the room, almost blinded by the sunlight pouring in through the windows. There they were, unaware of his presence -his existence.

Alice Longbottom was painting a flurry of yellows and reds and greens, all coming together to make a nonsense piece. Neville would have to remember that she was painting a new one for the buyers, unaware that the painting meant nothing.

Frank Longbottom was sitting by the window, reading a muggle book. Neville would have to ask him what it was about later. Neville raised his hand and knocked on the door frame.

"Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom? I have a special delivery from Augusta," Neville said, steadying the flowers in his hand. Alice looked up at him and smiled, putting down her brush and reaching out her paint stained hand to him.

"Thank you. Do you know how she is? I haven't seen her in a while," Alice said, still smiling. It was the same her. The same person Neville saw every week, but this was not the smile you gave your child. They were just acquaintances, and the hope that she would remember him fizzled like acid in his chest. He gave her a small smile back.

"She wanted me to tell you she was sorry. She had to organize the invitations and seating for the Christmas Ball," Neville said, the lie slipping easily from his lips. In truth, Augusta was six feet under the ground, buried on the Longbottom estate like her mother before her.

"Oh, that's too bad," Alice frowned, and took the flowers from Neville.

"What are you painting?" Neville asked after a moment, gesturing to the canvass.

"Oh!" Alice clapped her hands, her face brightening. "It's a flower field. See, I have roses, and poppies here," she was pointing at the corners. "And daisies with lilacs over here. I just know that Madison will love it." Madison was one of the people that bought the paintings Alice made. She had come to meet Alice once, and she seemed to buy even more of the pictures, now.

"I'm sure she will," Neville said, and turned his attention to his father. Frank hadn't moved, and was still reading his book. "What are you reading?" Neville asked gently, not wanting to startle him. Alice sighed when Frank didn't move. She stood up and snapped in her husband's face, and he jumped.

"What are you reading?" Alice asked forcefully. Frank blinked in surprise and confusion.

"Er- "The Iliad"" Frank said quickly, stumbling over his words. "It's a muggle book."

"That's nice, dear," Alice said, and Frank went back to reading. "You'll have to excuse him. He's having one of his days," Alice said in a low voice, looking at Neville apologetically.

"Oh, okay," Neville said, not really knowing what else to do. He smiled at his mother, and she sat back onto her stool in front of the easel.

"Well, thank you for the flowers. Will you tell Augusta that we miss her? It's been too long," Alice said, frowning a bit.

"Of course, Alice," Neville said. He turned away from her and walked to the door. He paused, and looked at his parents over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Alice. Goodbye Frank," Neville said. Alice beamed at him, and nudged her husband with her finger.

"Say goodbye," she said, her tone not offering refusal. Frank started and looked at Neville.

"Bye," he said shortly, his glasses crooked on his face. Alice sighed.

"Goodbye, dear," she said, and Neville left the room, unable to stand the way she spoke to him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning against the wall. "Something about that boy seems so familiar…" he heard Alice say softly before he left. "Frank, are you listening? Frank?" She asked, and she sighed when he didn't answer. "Oh, never mind, then," Alice said irritably. She resumed her painting as Neville fled the wing.

Some things got worse every time you tried to make them better. This was one of those things.

 _"Something about that boy seems so familiar…"_ The words rang in his head. She said the same thing every time.


	7. Sometimes Love Isn't Enough

**This was written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff.**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "Don't talk to me."**

 **Word count: 806**

 **Hello, readers! If you can't tell by now, I am a huge Dramione shipper. So, here's the fourth (?) Dramione story for The Houses Competition. Title: Sometimes love isn't enough. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

The air was crisp and cool. The moonlight poured through the windows, casting shadows across the floor and walls. It was quiet and still, except for the dark figure darting through the halls.

Hermione walked through the halls of Hogwarts. Her cloak billowed softly, her hood pulled over her mane of bushy hair.

It was sixth year in the middle of the night. But, Hermione didn't care. What came next was more important. What came next would mark a turning point in her life; for worse or better.

Her steps were quiet and hurried. If one were to look at her, you wouldn't be able to tell who she was, which is what she preferred.

Hermione stepped through the classroom door, closing it behind her. She turned to face the room, her eyes coming to a stop on the outline of a man. She stepped forward into a patch of moonlight, pulling her hood down.

"Draco," she breathed. Draco stepped closer to her, and his hair flashed silver in the dim light coming from the windows. They were close enough to touch, but they didn't.

"Hermione," Draco whispered. He bowed his head and closed his eyes when Hermione raised her hand to cup his cheek. His skin was smooth and hard, like stone. He was cold. He moved his head into her hand, rubbing against her warm hand.

His hands came to rest on her hips and he pulled them so their foreheads were pressed together.

"I've missed you so much," Draco said, and Hermione took in a breath that was so uniquely _Draco_. There was just something about him that made him so intoxicating. Her heart fluttered in her chest at his words.

"I have, too," Hermione whispered. They were all truths tonight. No lies, no pretending.

"I'm so sorry," Draco said, closing his eyes.

"I know," Hermione said, closing the space between their lips. Draco gasped and the contact, but brushed his lips against hers softly.

"For tonight, my love, we have all the time in the world to make things better," Draco said, kissing her again. Their kisses were slow but not lacking in passion. Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco's neck, his hands running up and down her arms. It was so much like before, only it wasn't.

They weren't pretending anymore.

"I love you, Draco," Hermione confessed to him, biting her lip. Draco's eyes flew open.

"I love you too," Draco said, wiping away a tear from Hermione's face she didn't know she had.

"Why are you crying?" His voice was soft, unjudging and kind.

"I've wanted to say that for so long. I never thought that it would be like this, though. I never thought it would be at the end," Hermione said, and Draco lifted her mouth to meet his.

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. "I never wanted it to end this way," Draco whispered, his lips centimeters from hers.

"Then don't," Hermione pleaded. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You should find someone who will make you happy. You deserve a happily-ever-after," Draco said. "I can't give that to you. I can't protect you from him. You know what's coming."

"I know," Hermione said, her face blank. "But maybe I don't care."

"I can't let you," Draco said, hating himself for it. Hermione let out the breath she was holding.

"You don't let me do anything," Hermione snapped.

"I'm not here to fight," Draco said. Hermione grimaced.

"Then why, Draco, did we all those times?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Draco answered, shaking his head slightly. Hermione scoffed and shoved him away. Draco staggered back from her.

"Don't talk to me, Draco," Hermione said viciously, violently tried pulling her hood back on, but her hair refusing to be contained, almost in spite of her. "I don't want to hear your excuses."

"Hermione, please," Draco pleaded, grabbing her hand. She ripped away from him snarled. "I'm not making excuses," He said firmly.

"Well, you certainly aren't here for me, either," Hermione said. And with that, she turned on her heels and left the room, leaving the door open behind her. Draco sighed and sat wearily on a nearby chair. He put his face in his hands, sighing, knowing Hermione had left for good.

Hermione was breathing heavily, the sound ragged and shaky. It was over. _They_ were really over, and she couldn't do a thing about it.

There was a heavy weight over her heart. Hermione was relieved that she could move on, but she was so, so upset. She loved him, and he loved her, but they were no good for each other. Sometimes love wasn't enough. Sometimes love couldn't conquer all. And when people's lives were at stake, love couldn't be involved. Hermione decided that this turning point was for the better.


	8. Having Known Love

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition, as per usual.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short Story**

 **Prompt: "Heartbreak [Emotion]"**

 **Word Count: 1220**

 **Title: Having known love.**

 **Rating: T**

 **Featured pairs: Dramione and Ron x Parvati Patil.**

 **I must give credit where credit is due, I was inspired to write this by Jennifer Castle's "What Happens Now." I haven't read the entire book, yet. In total honesty, I've only read the first twenty-eight pages. It's really good, so you should check it out!** **Happy reading!**

 **Ron's POV:**

Have you ever wanted something so badly it hurt? Have you ever lain awake at night going over memories in your head that aren't real? Have you ever wished for something so hard that there's a hole in your heart when you can't have it? I recently fell into the depths of that black hole, and I can't get out. I'm not entirely sure I want to.

The day I saw them together was the day I knew my heart had split in two, the day when I felt my soul shatter. She was _mine_ , and had been for so long. I felt something inside of me crack, the hope for the relationship I was going to have with her die. It hurt _so much_. I didn't know that I even had that inside of me, it was painful.

I could only watch as he leaned in and kissed her. Her hands rested themselves on his waist before slowly sliding up his body into his hair, her hands pulling him closer. His arms wrapped around her waist, and I knew that I should be the one to do that. But she was with him, the woman I loved with the man I hate. Their kisses were patient and content. He was so gentle with her. And that was the moment I knew I lost her for good, that I missed my chance.

Malfoy leaning down to whisper in her ear, making Hermione giggle and blush. Hermione putting her hand on his thigh, slowly moving it upward, causing him to turn a deep shade of red while she smiled innocently. Malfoy expertly pulling her bushy hair into a bun while she chatted away about S.P.E.W. I knew that I should be there, not him. I knew that every time I saw them touching, I couldn't do anything or she'd hate me as much as I hate him. I can't describe the way it felt to know she laid beside him every night, to know they talked when they were alone. It was like someone was twisting a dagger into my heart.

Year after year, they came to The Burrow together, and I tried to stay out of their way when they talked with my large family. I tried to let them be happy, as I know they are. I couldn't help but wonder if I could ever make her eyes gleam with pure joy or if I could ever make her so angry she'd want to slap me and kiss me at the same time. I know he could.

I felt something inside of me slip away and disappear completely when they announced their engagement. Then, two months later, when they revealed her pregnancy, I knew something had dropped from my very soul, had fallen into a pit of despair. But I wouldn't let them see, because I only wanted her to be happy. Even if the person that could do that is a man I despise.

When I looked at their son, I saw everything I could've had with her, but this child, he was pure. He had his father's smirk and eye color, his mother's bushy hair, even if it was blond. He had Hermione's smile, and Malfoy's quick wit. He was everything I knew would never come from Hermione and I. And that hurt. But my heart ached less when I looked at this little boy, because I knew he meant the world to both Hermione and Malfoy, and I only ever wanted them to be happy.

I didn't like to think about her too much. I tried to stop lying awake at night contemplating how I would've proposed to her, or how her naked body would've looked under my bedsheets. Instead, I tried to make my mind blank, hoping, praying, that sleep would not plague me with the worst possible dreams.

But I ran out of luck a long time ago. Every night, Hermione's hand was in mine. Our toes were in the sand, a ring on her left ring finger. Her hair was splayed out onto the pillows in our bed, her head on my bare chest. And just before we'd kiss, I'd wake up, and it would be dawn. The start of a new day when I knew she would not be beside me. I couldn't seem to get over Hermione.

But then, I met _her_ , Padma Patil- The woman I hoped would come into my life and sweep me off my feet; the woman who would not care about Hermione and Malfoy, and would only care about me. I know how selfish that sounds, but it's what I wished for even more than having Hermione next to me.

She was everything I needed. She was the woman who mended my broken heart, and she gave me part of her own soul, and it seemed to fit perfectly with my broken one. We danced together, ate together, understood each other, and I finally knew what it was like to have someone love you as much as you loved them.

Years after I met her, and we were married with a little girl named Rose, I felt my heart break again. She was taken from me the worst possible way- ripped from my life and forced into her coffin. Her body was pale and unmoving, so unlike the joyous, amazing woman she used to be. How was I supposed to tell my little girl her mother died of cancer? That she was never coming home again?

I recently felt my heart, my very mind, split in two and go under the ground with my wife. Of course, Hermione was there with Malfoy. But I didn't care, because my little girl was crying, crying for the mother she didn't have anymore. And I could only hold her in my lap and tell her that her mother would never really be gone.

Rose's sobs cut through the air, stabbing at what remained of my existence. I couldn't stop the tears from falling, praying that Rose wouldn't feel them drop onto her face.

Here I laid, in my bed with my ten-year-old daughter by my side. I stared at the ceiling, and I couldn't help but wonder what life would've been like had my wife been here. No doubt she would send Rose to Hogwarts after giving her a million kisses and hugs. She would be here for the time when Rose would have her first kiss, her first love. How could I ever be Rose's mother _and_ father? How could I ever be what my little girl needed?

Have you ever wanted something so badly it hurt? Have you ever laid awake at night going over memories of better times in your head? Have you ever wished for something so hard that there's a hole in your heart when you can't have it? I know how that feels. To need something so badly it's like you will never be whole without it. I've experienced this twice in my life, and I'm not sure which was worse- having known love and having it taken away from you, or wishing with every fiber of your being to have it back. I'm starting to think it would have been better if I never got over my first heartbreak.


	9. Hermione the Brawler

**This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "The Ex [Character/Person]"**

 **Word count: 879**

 **Title: Hermione the Brawler**

 **So… Here's another one! I couldn't resist this one. I can't really tell if this is Ron hating, or Heron bashing. Both? Probably. But, this is for all the times I wish Hermione would punch Ron instead of Draco. Let's break some people's jaws, shall we?**

 **Warnings: Violent!Hermione, Drunk!Ginny, and Ginny has a potty mouth...**

 **Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter. Happy reading!**

Ginny sat on the stool by the bar, sipping her aqua blue cocktail. She glanced around the club, searching through the dancing mass for a head of bushy hair. She grinned when she saw Hermione making her way towards her, and ordered another drink from the cute bartender before her friend sat.

Hermione was panting, wearing a scowl as Ginny passed her a lemonade, knowing Hermione didn't drink.

"What got your knickers in a twist?" Ginny shouted over the techno music, eyeing Hermione's glower. Hermione shot her a glare before pointing across the club. Ginny followed her finger and saw her brother. At least, Ginny thought it was her brother, she couldn't see his face because he was preoccupied with a short blonde girl. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"The ex," Hermione said bitterly. Ginny patted Hermione's hand clumsily.

"We can leave, you know," Ginny said, and Hermione looked at her, startled.

"What? Really?" Hermione asked hopefully, and Ginny laughed.

"No," Ginny said, only a little sorry that she led Hermione on for a second. Hermione hit her arm lightly, shaking her head in disapproval. Hermione groaned softly and put her head down on the bar. Ginny looked behind her and saw Ron making his way toward the two of them.

"Can we leave?" Hermione pleaded, not bringing her head up.

"No!" Ginny said. She put on a smile and waved Ron down. Ron walked up to the pair, grinning. "Hey, big brother!" Ginny yelled. His smile broadened and he sat next to Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione!" he said. He leaned on the counter as Hermione lifted her head up to look at her ex-boyfriend. To both Ginny and Ron's surprise, she was smiling at him. Ron took that as a good sign and scooted closer to her.

"Hello, Ron! What are you doing here?" Hermione asked politely. Ron smiled sweetly at her.

"Oh, you know. For fun," Ron shrugged. Hermione laughed and touched his arm. Ginny turned the other way to hide her smirk when Ron got a greedy look in his eyes.

"Do you want to dance?" Ron asked, smiling crookedly at Hermione. Hermione grinned back and stood. Ginny was sure Ron couldn't see the dark gleam in Hermione's eyes as he stood with her.

"Why, Ron, would I want to dance with a two-timing weasel?" Hermione asked, her voice still sweet and high. Ron's look faltered, only for a second, but Hermione found her window. She pulled her arm back, her hand clenched into a fist, and punched Ron in the face. Her fist connected to his jaw with a sickening crunch.

By this time, Ginny was laughing, clutching at her stomach when Ron hit the floor with a thud.

"Oh, my god! You knocked him out!" Ginny squealed, clapping her hands together. The bartender was staring at Hermione, who was rubbing her knuckles and looking venomous.

"The ex!" Hermione said as an explanation. The bartender nodded slowly before the bouncers came up and removed Ron, Ginny, and Hermione from the club.

When Hermione was outside, she took Ginny's hands and jumped up and down, screaming in excitement. Ginny vaguely acknowledged the fact that they were acting like twelve-year-olds, but shrugged that thought away. This was better.

Suddenly, Hermione frowned, her hands still in Ginny's, and glanced at the club doors.

"You know we can't come back here, right?" she asked, and Ginny beamed at her.

"Of course not! And whose fault is that? Yours!" She exclaimed, then hiccupped and started squealing again. "I'm so proud of you!" she slurred. Hermione shook her head and blushed.

"Ginny, you have to go home. You're drunk," Hermione said. Ginny sighed and made her hand a talking puppet.

"Blah, blah, blah. No shit, Sherlock," said Ginny sarcastically. Hermione shook her head and pulled her friend into a hug. She apparated to Ginny and Harry's house, ringing the doorbell. Harry answered after a minute, wearing his pajamas, his hair tousled and messy as always.

"'Bout time! I said nine o'clock, young lady!" Harry scolded, holding up a reprimanding finger while trying to keep a straight face. Hermione shrugged.

"Here's your devil-child," Hermione said, and, with the help of Harry, got Ginny inside the house and onto the couch. "I have news."

"Yes?" Harry asked, pulling a blanket over his fiancé.

"I think I broke The Weasel's jaw," Hermione said. She'd taken to calling Ron "The Weasel" around her friends. Harry beamed at her.

"I assume that's why you're back so early? Got kicked out of the club?" Harry asked, and he made his way into the kitchen to pour Hermione a glass of water.

"Yep!" Hermione chirped, sitting at a stool by the island.

"Well, good for you. Want me to heal your hand?" Harry asked, pulling out his wand.

"No. Just some ice, please. I want to remember this," Hermione smirked.

"Can do, Brawler," Harry said. Hermione groaned.

"Brawler?" she complained.

"Yes," said Harry, handing her a bag of ice. She put it on her hand and winced.

"Has a nice ring to it-Hermione the Brawler," Ginny slurred from the couch before her snores filled the room. Harry glanced at Ginny, his eyes loving.

"Hermione the Brawler," Hermione tried out, and her lips curved into a small smile. "I like it."


	10. The Difference

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Themed (Escape)**

 **Prompt: "Anger [Emotion]"**

 **Word count: 1315**

 **Title: The Difference**

 **So…. This is a lot different from what I normally write. One, this has no dialogue. Two, I compare vomiting to anger to love here. Three, I wrote this in the perspective of a certain blond-haired Slytherin. Four, this whole thing is practically a metaphor. At least there's one thing familiar- This is a Dramione! (Whoo, I was almost overwhelmed by all the new things.) Anyways…. This was an odd one. I have no idea how this little Athena sprung up in my head, but here she is! Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter, I only write fanfiction. Happy reading!**

 **Draco's POV:**

Do you know that feeling right before you hurl? How it feels like something's sitting, waiting patiently in your throat as if asking for your permission to come up? But, of course, it's not. You can't seem to swallow it back down because, by then, it's too late. It all spills out, and your taste buds are filled with the horrid flavor of your vomit as you let it all go, and your nose is assaulted with the scent of the same thing, and you can swear it smells exactly like it tastes.

I know from my own experiences that anger can feel exactly the same way. You know what's going to happen, that it's going to spill over the edge, yet you're powerless to stop it. Almost like you're not in your own body, and you're simply watching as you let go. And you really can't care less, but your blood is pounding in your ears, and you know that whatever's happening is something you should be concerned about but can't bring yourself to lift a finger to stop it.

Your hands shake at your sides, and you try to make them stop, but your efforts are pointless. There are startling similarities between being angry and being sick. This is something I know all too well.

After a long time, the hatred and rage that burns in your stomach becomes a dull ache, hardly there, apart of you. But then it flares back to life, coming like a roaring fire that leaves you broken and ashamed after something- or someone- manages to calm you down. I'd felt this fury four times in my life.

First, when Harry Potter, in all of his glory, rode a _bloody hippogriff_ , and I couldn't do it myself. Second, when Harry Potter's name came out of The Goblet of Fire. Third, when my father didn't retrieve that stupid prophecy from The Department of Mysteries, and was thrown into Azkaban. And fourth, when I was branded with the Dark Mark. I dealt with it in different ways.

I can deal with anger, the deep gut feeling I'd grown accustomed to. It was like a shadow, always there to accompany me, always something I could turn to. But it became suffocating. I needed to escape from it; I was sick of it.

I needed to feel something else, something other than the inevitable fury. So that's why I ran. My justification for switching sides and abandoning my pureblood beliefs was simply that I needed to feel something other than disgust and self-loathing.

I spent weeks cooped up in a dark, musty room while _they_ interrogated me-The Order, the Light. I was miserable, and I welcomed it. I welcomed the change, and they new it, too.

After six months of being locked away from everyone, they finally let me out. I could walk into the kitchen on my own free will. I could bask in the dim sunlight that poured into the drawing room through the grimy windows. Despite my newfound somewhat freedom, I grew bored. That, I decided, was somehow worse than my sizzling anger.

I spent days in my room, only leaving for food and books. On one of those fateful days was when I saw her, Hermione Granger, poring over the large texts in the library. I wasn't even aware she was in The Order. It surprised me, of course, but the reaction from Granger was priceless.

She jumped up and punched me, hitting every body part she could reach, including my groin. I was highly amused despite the pain I felt, and I told her so. It took an intervention from McGonagall to get her off of me. By then the situation was less humorous.

But seeing Granger that way stirred something inside me. The flush that rose to her face, her lips parted in anger, her hair flying wildly. I never imagined something so perfect. That's what I was needing. I guess you could say that moment was when I fell for her. And, oh, did I fall. _Hard._

It was slow work, getting her to trust me. It took three months, to be exact.(Not that I was counting.) It was worth it, though. When I first kissed her, I felt something twitch in my chest. I'd already thrown away my pureblood values, so I didn't mind when I acknowledged the fact that I'd fallen in love with her. Weeks of fantasizing about her slowly led me to that point, all I had to do was jump, hammer the last nail into the coffin. And I knew that kiss was it, the thing that sealed my fate.

I couldn't stop the affection and adoration that filled my heart. I couldn't stop myself from fighting for the Light, because that's what Granger did, and I'd follow her anywhere.

I escaped my rage, my life, my beliefs, all for the sake of change. And I'd fallen straight into the arms of love. It was new, and I was clumsy. But I had Hermione to pick me up when I fell, and kiss the scrapes on my knees better.

Do you know that feeling right before you hurl? How it feels like something's sitting, waiting patiently in your throat as if asking for your permission to come up? But, of course, it's not. You can't seem to swallow it back down because, by then, it's too late. It all spills out, and your taste buds are filled with the horrid flavor of your vomit as you let it all go, and your nose is assaulted with the scent of the same thing, and you can swear it smells exactly like it tastes.

I know love feels the same way. You know it's there, but you just ignore it until it becomes so obvious and noticeable. That's when it flows over, and you start kissing in public, and you've defined the relationship. It becomes so glaringly bright you don't even know why you didn't see it before.

I noticed how closely these three things are related. Love, anger, and puking. An odd thing, each is.

With anger comes hatred and disgust. It bites you, grips your life, and you get so tired of the constant burning. You have to just leave it all behind. To run wherever it won't follow. You have to escape your life because wherever your comfort is, your rage is, too.

When you're vomiting up this morning's brunch, you just want to fall away from it all. To stop the awful sensations and just be somewhere else. To switch bodies with someone who isn't having muscle aches or stomach spasms. After the third or fourth time of retching it becomes routine: stagger to the toilet, fall to the floor, and let it all come up. So you have to escape from that, too. Only you don't know how to make it stop.

That's where love is set apart. That's where love is different. It overloads your senses and smothers you. But it's warm and you welcome the feeling. The sensation of drowning is all you can feel for weeks straight, but it's not a bad feeling. Not when the water around you is the way she smells, or the sound of her laugh, or the glint in her eyes when she smiles. You let yourself fall into the black pit, spiraling out of control. And yet, you feel no urgency to climb back out. You have no need to escape from under the overwhelming blanket of desire. You just know that somewhere within the dark, there's a ladder to leave this behind, take you back to where you were before. But you know you'll never need it.

That's where the difference lies. Between love, anger, and vomiting. When you really stop to look at it, the only one you ever wish to have forever is love.


	11. Dear Miss Jugson

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short story (The fourth allowed entry for prefects.)**

 **Prompt: "Dementors [Creature]"**

 **Word Count: 2215**

 **Title: Dear Miss Jugson**

 **Well, this was kind of depressing to write, but that's my specialty. Diana Jugson and John Penrose are original characters. This is written in Diana's perspective. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Happy reading!**

When I first saw the Dementors, I was seventeen years old. I was visiting my father in Azkaban for the first time since his arrest. I remember being taken onto a boat that rocked dangerously on the dark ocean waves. I could see the outline of the Wizarding Prison in the distance, and I repressed a shudder. The sight was horrifyingly real; the stories I'd heard and pictures I had seen did not do the structure justice: It was far worse than I ever knew.

I looked down at the waters below, seeing my own reflection on the black surface. My waist-long blonde hair was falling out of it's elegantly braided bun. My blue eyes were large, and I knew even then they were more haunted than they should've been. I knew I looked like my father, with my pointy nose and pinched face. I scowled and shook my head.

I was surrounded with Aurors, including the famous Harry Potter. His eyes reminded me of my own, not in color, but the emotions that swam through them. We were both forced to grow up too fast, I concluded. The others in the boat had their wands out, their breath rising in puffs as we neared Azkaban.

The boat landed on the rocky shore with a thump, and, so far, we had not spoken a word to each other. Everyone was silent as Auror Potter cast his Patronus. The others murmured the same charm, animals bounding merrily from the tips of their wands. I was taken aback by the beauty of each, though none were as stunning as Auror Potter's. I felt bitter and angry inside; How could he have such a happy memory when I couldn't recall one moment of pure joy in my life? The air around me warmed considerably and I sighed in relief.

"Stay close to us, Miss Jugson," Auror Potter turned to me, his eyes soft. I nodded stiffly. As if I would run off to the clutches of the Dementors.

As we neared the doors of the prison, and I heard someone scream from inside. I looked at the others, alarmed. The red-headed Aurors shared a look with Harry Potter. I believe they were Ronald Weasley and his sister, Ginevra Potter.

"Is that normal?" I asked, hearing how cold and detached I sounded. Ginevra Potter lifted her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I flinched; I wasn't used to being touched. She dropped her hand, looking saddened.

"It's not unexpected," Harry said, his handsome face twisted into a bitter frown. I gritted my teeth at his response, straightening by back and setting my shoulders.

"Take me to my father," I said, and I saw his eyebrow raise in surprise and…. respect? He nodded to the others, and they pushed the large black doors open. I followed the Aurors down the dark, cold halls. They led me through a maze of moss-covered stone walls and slippery floors.

I felt myself shiver despite the heat from the Patronus charms when I saw the shadows _move_. I knew without having to think that those were the Dementors, that they were the ones who preyed on fear and hate. It was like staring into the darkness, trying to see movement, only to realize that something was looking _back_. I drew a shaky breath and focused instead on the stag Patronus ahead of me.

The Aurors came to a stop outside of a cell, the silvery animals illuminating a shivering figure inside. Ronald Weasley put his hand on the small of my back, gently pushing me towards my father. Harry opened the door of the cell with his wand, holding it open for me, allowing me to pass through. I stepped inside and heard the gentle click of the door closing behind me.

I slid to the floor beside my father, remembering when he used to pick me up and swing me around the room. I was fully aware the Aurors could see me through the bars, but I didn't care.

I hesitantly put my hand over my father's.

"Daddy," I whispered, and my father jumped into a sitting position, disbelief and horror written on his face.

"You're not real!" His voice was hoarse. From screaming or lack of use I couldn't tell. I took a shuddering breath, and scooted closer to the broken man in front of me.

"Daddy, I'm here," I said, putting my hands on either side of his face. He froze and I took the opportunity to kiss his forehead. "It's okay. I'm here," I whispered to him, a small smile graced my lips. My father leapt forward, pulling me into a tight hug. I gasped at the sharp feeling of his bones.

"My baby girl," he said, his voice thick with tears. I felt his body shaking, and I pulled away from him. He sighed. I shook off my royal blue cloak and wrapped it around him. I took this moment to observe him.

His hair was long, much longer than he ever liked, and it was greasy and tangled. It hung around his shoulders, framing his sunken, hollow face. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was pale. His clothes were ragged, hanging off of his body. I choked back a sob and pulled out my wand. I heard the Aurors hiss a warning, and knew they were pointing their wands at my father.

I performed a cleaning spell on my father's hair, and cut it to his ears as he stared at me with glossy eyes. He didn't move until I was finished, and I looked back at Harry Potter, handing him my wand. His eyes were steely and focused, as if expecting my father to attack at a moment's notice. I slipped my wand through the bars of the cell, and Harry pocketed it.

I looked back at my dad and launched myself into his arms, feeling tears fall from my eyes.

"Daddy, I'm so sorry. I missed you so much," I said, closing my eyes.

"Please don't let me wake up," I heard him whisper. A sob escaped my throat.

"Daddy, you're not dreaming!" I wailed, holding him tighter. He kissed my forehead and rocked me back and forth.

"I love you so much, darling. I never told you enough," he said, his chin resting on my head.

"Dad, you're a great man. I know you love me," I told him, trying to catch my breath.

"Please don't leave me. Don't let me wake up," he begged. It felt like someone had shattered my heart, taken a bit of my soul. My father thought I wasn't real. He thought I wasn't there, that I wasn't seeing him for the first time in five years.

"Never," I said quietly. I remembered then that he used to throw me into the lake, and I would laugh with glee. He would jump in after me and hoist me onto his shoulders, and I would splash his face while he walked to the shallow part of the lake.

He used to pick me up from the Hogwarts Express at Christmas, making me sit in a trolley as he pushed me through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-quarters. I would laugh and scream in delight while clutching my cat to my chest. He did that every time, even when I insisted I was too old. I realized then that he'd only done that twice.

"I love you," I told him, pulling away from him to hold him by the shoulders at arm's-length. He had tear-stains on his face, as I knew I did, too.

"Are you happy? Have you found someone in your life to make you happy?" He asked suddenly. I closed my eyes and used all my courage to smile at him. I nodded.

"I'm happy," I lied.

"How's your mother?" He asked. I swallowed the lump in my throat, thinking of the woman who died when I was five. I didn't feel the need to remind him of that, though.

"She's sorry she couldn't come," I said, noting how his eyes lit up. I felt a sharp pain run through my heart at the sight. I knew then that my father was not the same man he was when he first entered this cell. I knew that he was insane, driven there by the guards of Azkaban.

"I have to go, daddy." I stood abruptly, brushing off my dress. He looked up at me, a warm smile on his face, and my heart melted.

"Come back soon?" He asked hopefully, his eyes wide.

"Of course," I said, taking in one last look at my sickly father, wearing my cloak and his own torn clothing. I cleared my throat and stood in front of the door, not glancing back as I stepped through.

"Get me out of here," I said roughly to Harry. He nodded in understanding, then started down the hallway. I heard my father calling out to me as Harry gave my wand back.

"Diana! Diana, come back!" He sobbed. I tried to ignore the screams and shrieks he made as I left him behind. We turned through many corridors, and I grew dizzy with it all. I was sick of this place, already wishing I could run away and never look back.

We passed many more cells, each one occupied by a hunched figure, murmuring darkly or praying. I glanced around, eyeing the dark areas that seemed too dark. Areas that seemed to suck the energy from me and absorbed the light instead of allowing it to pass. I gulped for air, feeling confined.

I couldn't say how long it was until we were back in the boat, but I would've jumped over the side right then and there if it would get my father out of that place.

"You know, a lot of them are worse," Ronald Weasley told me softly. I turned sharply to him, looking away from the white foam that blanketed the ocean near Azkaban. "A lot of them are worse," he repeated. I thought of my father, smiling and then crying, ragged and cold.

"What do you mean?" I asked, and drew the attention of Ginevra Potter. She nudged her brother, but he shrugged her off.

"The Dementors. They turn people crazy. Most of the people there can't even have a conversation. Some of them die," Ronald explained, and I closed my eyes. I breathed in the cool, salty air. I felt it whip around my body, taking comfort in it. It felt sharp and steady against my pale skin.

"The Dementors," I said, and opened my eyes to see Ronald staring at me intently, his blue eyes unreadable.

"Yes," he said simply, turning away to look at the self-moving oars. I studied my hands, noticing that my royal blue gloves were dirty. I took them off and threw them overboard. I saw Harry glance at me, but ignored him and watched the silk gloves sink beneath the water. The ocean was like ink, swallowing my favorite pair of mittens, never to be seen again.

I never went back to him. I never went back to my father. As I looked down at the letter in my hands three years later, I was reminded of that.

 _Dear Miss Jugson,_

 _We are sorry to inform you that your father passed away at three-thirty yesterday afternoon. We would like to arrange a meeting to discuss his last will and testament, as well as funeral arrangements. Would Friday at two o'clock work well for you? If this time is not convenient, please owl us with a time and date by Thursday afternoon. Please inform me of your preferred meeting place by Wednesday morning._

 _With regards,_

 _John Penrose_

I scoffed and scrawled "The Leaky Cauldron" onto the back of the envelope, signed my name, and re-attached the letter to the ministry owl. I sighed and swirled a glass of Firewhiskey in my hand, debating whether or not I should drink it. I snarled and dumped it into a half-dead pot of marigolds. I already mourned for my father, three years ago, when I learned of his madness. I wasn't going to do that again.

I couldn't help but think of the Dementors as I sat on my leather couch in front of a large fire. The way they moved, the way they looked when they sucked out the souls of man and creature alike. I was never prepared to see their dark hoods, or to feel their presence.

I wondered what I would see if they got close. Surely I would see something, I was old enough to remember the war. Maybe I would see the blood spattered onto the doors of people's houses. Maybe the Dark Mark, floating above a burning building.

Or perhaps, I thought bitterly, I would hear the screams of my father as I left him to rot in Azkaban. I sighed, threw my empty glass at the wall and watched it shatter into a hundred shining pieces. I put my face in my hands.

I regret never returning to him. I couldn't bare the thought of letting him go, so I never gave him the opportunity to say goodbye. How foolish of me.


	12. The Trolley Witch

**A/N: Hello, readers. This is written for The Houses Competition, Bonus round 2.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Theme: Marauders Era, Hogwarts/ Pre-Order**

 **Prompt 1: "If anybody knew what he/she was currently doing, they'd try to stop her/him."**

 **Prompt 2: "Two is better than one"**

 **Word count: 1652**

 **Title: "The Trolley Witch"**

 **Um… So, this is my first time writing for the Marauders Era. It's also my first time writing for Wolfstar. I had** ** _a lot of_** **fun writing it, really. Don't be too picky, m'kay? This is supposed to have a light 'n airy tone to it. *evil grin* Unlike my previous submissions. Meh. I have no regrets.**

 **Warnings: Slash and, yes, a kiss. A single kiss. *gasp* How scandalous! ;) This is something that was mentioned in "The Cursed Child" by the Trolley Witch. Besides the Wolfstar pairing, of course. That never happened in canon. But this incident did. That's all I'll say for now, but for those of you who remembered what the ( teensy spoiler…?) Trolley Witch tells Albus and Scorpius, this is probably predictable.**

 **Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter. Happy reading!**

 **1975, The Hogwarts Express, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black's fifth year at Hogwarts**

"Moony!" Sirius exclaimed, pulling his fifteen year old brown haired friend into a hug. Remus reluctantly hugged him back, awkwardly patting his head.

Remus had grown a lot taller than Sirius over the summer; he now towered over the Marauders with an impressive six feet. Sirius looked up at him, a wide grin on his face.

His eyes wandered slowly from Remus' eyes to his feet and back up again, then hesitated at Remus' lips. Remus felt himself blush as Sirius gave a tiny nod of approval, while James snickered.

"Hey, guys," Remus said, pushing his luggage up onto the rack above the seats. He sat next to Peter, avoiding Sirius' eyes, which were locked on his face.

"Moony, before you say no, just listen," James said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"James-" Remus started, a frown on his face.

"I know, I know. Prefect and everything, but we won't get you in trouble. See, it won't be your fault that we climb out the window of the Hogwarts Express and onto the roof," James said logically, standing up as he opened the window. Warm air whipped around the four of them as Remus' jaw dropped.

"What?" He managed.

"We're climbing onto the roof!" Sirius said, and Remus slowly turned to him. Remus grabbed his shoulders, ignoring the tingling feeling in his hands as he did so.

"Why?" Remus demanded, glancing over his shoulder to see James' feet disappear from his vision. Sirius barked a laugh, and Remus' stomach flopped.

"Because it's fun! You should get out more, Moony," Sirius said. He walked over to the window where Peter was struggling to get through. He gave him a good push and James' hands pulled Peter up.

Sirius half-left the window, one leg in and the other out. He turned, and gave Remus a dazzling grin. Sirius winked and said, "Are you coming, Prefect?" Remus groaned at this, glancing back at the closed and locked compartment door. He bit his lip and when he looked back at Sirius, he could only see his legs dangling outside the glass.

Worry twisted in Remus' stomach and he shook his head, cursing as he removed his robes and climbed out the window after Sirius. The wind whipped around him violently and he pressed himself closer to the metal train. He looked down and nearly fainted. 'Bad idea', he thought. Remus was afraid of heights, and they were on a bridge over a large body of crystal blue water. If anyone knew what he was currently doing, they'd try to stop him. He knew he would've if it was someone else.

Remus pulled himself up with ease, and he took out his wand. Looking around, he saw his three friends standing huddled together a few yards away. Standing menacingly in front of the trio was the Trolley Witch, smiling, showing her razor-sharp teeth. Remus gulped as he saw she had silver spiked hands. Standing in front of Peter and James was Sirius, his arms spread wide as if to protect the pair. James looked like he wasn't happy with their roles, but kept his furious eyes on the Trolley Witch.

Remus' eyes widened, paralyzed with fear for his friends. Was the Trolley Witch going to hurt them? Sirius looked prepared to fight her to the death for even threatening his friends. Remus silently cursed his loyalty to James and Peter, then immediately took it back. If he didn't have Sirius, he didn't know what he would've done every full moon for the past three years.

He felt like, in the ten seconds he stood against the wind, he relived his life with Sirius. Sirius, there to comfort Remus the mornings after his transformations. Sirius, winking at him and grinning lazily. Sirius, point-blank refusing to study. Throwing spoons of pudding into his hair at dinner. Flirting shamelessly with a werewolf. Pulling him into a hug after he had a bad dream. There, always, when Remus needed him the most. Sirius' smile, his confidence, his bravery.

Remus' heart stuttered as he thought about Sirius getting hurt. What if something happened to Sirius right now? What if he fought the Trolley Witch and was seriously injured? What if he slipped and fell off the train? It had never occurred to Remus that he hadn't even stopped to think about James or Peter in that moment. He needed Sirius to be safe. Before his own life, before anyone else's.

Panic bubbled in Remus' veins, jerking him away from his thoughts as he ran forward as best he could against the wind, crouched low on the train. He would reflect on his reaction later, and realize how silly his fear was, but right then, he was afraid for his friend. His friend, who he wanted to be with his whole life as more than a friend.

"Sirius!" he shouted, hoping he could hear him. Remus had caught the attention of the Trolley Witch, who turned to him and advanced on him.

"Moony!" James and Sirius shouted. Remus growled as the Trolley Witch descended on him, smiling like this was normal.

"Please return to your seat," she said politely, still walking toward Remus. Remus gulped and looked at his friends. Sirius' eyes met Remus' and they nodded. Sirius grabbed Peter by the arm and rushed over to their window, sliding down into their compartment without a backward glance. James followed close behind, only pausing to grin and wave at the Trolley Witch before his head disappeared. "Please return to your seat," the Trolley Witch repeated. Remus nodded vigorously and slid back off the side of the train.

A pair of strong hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him back into the compartment. His blood was pounding in his ears as he landed on top of Sirius.

Remus felt his panic turn to anger, and then he yelled, "Don't do that again, Sirius!" Remus looked down at his friend, noting that he was straddling his waist, and Sirius' hands were still on his legs. Sirius' wide, grey eyes, were full of surprise; Remus never raised his voice. "You scared me," he added softly, his voice breaking.

He felt his heart clench as Sirius whispered, "I'm sorry."

Remus acted without thinking, he leaned down and pressed his lips against Sirius' violently, his eyes clamped shut tightly. Sirius responded just as eagerly, moving his hands into Remus' hair, groaning softly as they kissed like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

Loud laughter filled their compartment, and Remus jumped away from Sirius, panting. Remus crawled back on all fours until his head hit the wall of the train. His eyes shot over to James, who had his hands on his knees as he laughed himself to tears. Peter had his hands over his eyes in the corner, his whole face an ugly red.

Sirius propped himself up on his elbows, and looked at Remus merrily. James had finally stopped laughing, and was wiping tears from his eyes as he said, "Moony, it's about time you kissed him. He's been talking about you for weeks. Moony-this, and Moony-that."

Remus couldn't tear his eyes away from Sirius, who was looking extremely smug. His heart was pounding and he knew he wanted more of that. Whatever just happened between the two of them. Something else for them to share, something that would be theirs.

"Hey, could you two stop eye-shagging each other? We have a child in our company," James said, grinning as he patted Peter's head for effect. Remus blushed and looked up at the window instead of Sirius' inviting grey eyes.

Remus stood and shut the window, then reached out a hand to Sirius, who was still on the floor.

"Need a hand?" Remus asked.

"Two is better than one," Sirius replied, reaching out both of his arms to Remus. Remus rolled his eyes., knowing that Sirius just wanted to touch him. Sirius was always looking for an excuse to. He pulled Sirius off the floor easily, staring down into his eyes as he held his hands tightly.

"Child!" James said in a sing-sing voice. Remus rolled his eyes and pulled his robes back on over his uniform, letting go of Sirius' hands. Sirius flopped down on a seat, leaving room for Remus to sit next to him. Remus did, throwing his arm around Sirius' shoulders. He awkwardly scooted closer to Sirius until their legs were pressed together. James snorted. "You two suck at this couple thing."

"Yeah? How's it going for you, Prongs?" Sirius asked, an eyebrow raised in James' direction. James rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'm telling you, though, Lily Evans will be my wife one day," James said.

"Don't let her hear you say that," Remus said. The four of them laughed for a few moments before Remus added, "Let's not ever do this again. I don't think I'll ever look at the Trolley Witch the same way again." Remus shuddered as he remember her spiked hands and sharp teeth.

Sirius felt Remus shiver and pressed himself closer to his more-than-friend. The Marauders shared a laugh at Remus' expense, and he shook his head in embarrassment. Sirius threaded his hand through Remus', giving him a small smile that took his breath away. Beautiful, Remus thought.

Remus blushed, and Sirius put his head on his chest like they'd been sitting that way for years. Remus immediately relaxed at his touch, and their bodies molded together as if made for each other. Remus let himself believe they were, and Sirius would later call him a hopeless romantic for it, but for now he couldn't care less. Remus was sitting next to the boy he'd grown to care deeply for, one could almost say he was in love.

Not that Remus would ever admit it to be true before it was too late.


	13. Love and Joy

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "Draco/ Luna [Couple]"**

 **Word count: 896**

 **Title: "Love and Joy"**

 **Notes: This is written when Luna is captured in Malfoy Manor, around Christmas.**

 **This is a companion piece to Magi Silverwolf's** ** _Obsession and Sorrow_** **, which is also written for round four of The Houses Competition. It's not necessary to read her piece, but it would definitely be worth the read, and it continues this little love story. Her username on FFN is** ** _Magi Silverwolf_** **, you can find some of her stories under my Favorite Stories tab on my profile. (Yes, I am aware that there are over a hundred stories there.) Be sure to go check out her work.**

 **Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter. If I did, Draco would be married to Hermione and Ron would be okay with it.**

 _Christmas_

Draco was used to the screams. He was used to the cries for help. But the one thing he couldn't wrap his mind around was the singing.

Voldemort was now a guest of Malfoy Manor, demanding meals and privacy. This left the other Death Eaters to believe the rest of the Manor was at their disposal, too. That area included the dungeons, where Draco would hear the pleas and moans of the prisoners of the Snatchers and Death Eaters.

At first, it alarmed him, and he almost went down to help whoever was down there until his mother, Narcissa, explained the situation to him. He was, under no circumstances, to help the prisoners in any way. Should he ever feel the need to do so, he would be punished.

So, over Christmas break, Draco Malfoy grew used to the sobs and yells from the dungeons. He learned to tune it out, to think about other things. Even though he could hear them in his own bedroom, because the sounds echoed across the dark Malfoy Manor.

It was three days after he arrived home from Hogwarts, seventh year, when he heard it. She sounded like an angel, her voice was so soft and sweet. She sang of meadows and flower fields. Christmas and pine trees. It was the most beautiful thing Draco had ever heard.

He couldn't figure out how she could sing about such amazing things when she was a prisoner. He longed to go see her, to ask her. To hold her hand and look into her eyes as she sang. She became his obsession, his distraction from the death and bloodshed around him.

He couldn't stop listening to her. Her voice was breathy and melancholic, though the things she sang of were joyful. Some days she didn't sing in English, and others there were no words. Sometimes she just hummed, but he could hear. He always could, like she was there just for him. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. She was something amazing in his mind.

He imagined her, sitting in the dark with just her songs to keep her company. He couldn't see her face. It didn't feel right to put a face to the voice, because he had no idea who she was. And he believed that she was so much better than he could ever imagine.

That brought him there, right outside the cells, against direct orders. He had to know who she was. He had to touch her, to hug her and keep her warm like she did for him. Her voice was the only thing keeping him sane, and he needed to do the same for her.

He took a deep breath, glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming, and unlocked the cell door. He lit his wand and stepped into the damp, cold room.

"Hello?" he called out softly. He saw movement in the corner of the room and his head shot over to it. "I brought food, and clothes. And a blanket," he said softly, shutting the cell door behind him. It shut with a soft click, and he suddenly thankful for all the house elves that oiled the hinges.

He stepped into the center of the room, raising his wand higher so the light spread into all corners of the room.

"Hello," someone said. Draco's eyes darted to the source, and he nearly dropped his wand as he saw who it was.

"Luna Lovegood?" Draco asked, taking in her appearance. Her hair was dirty and tangled, and her clothes were in a worse state. She looked so different than he remembered.

"Draco Malfoy. I was wondering when I would see you," Luna said softy.

"You knew I was going to come?" he asked, taking a hesitant step towards her. She smiled and pat the ground next to her, scooting over a little so he could sit. He walked over to her and sat, his back pressed against the wall.

"Of course. I was hoping my singing would bring you to me. It was only a matter of time," Luna said. Draco shook his head and smiled a bit. He handed her the blanket, which she gratefully wrapped around herself.

"You've been singing for me?" Draco asked, scooting forward subconsciously. She smiled and took his hand, making him jump.

"Yes," she said simply. He pulled some food out of a basket he brought.

"Here," he said, giving her a piece of bread.

"Thank you, Draco," she said airily. Draco felt himself shiver as she said his name.

"I'm sorry. For all the things I said about you in school. And I'm sorry you're here," he said, blushing like mad. Malfoys did not blush. What was Luna doing to him? Luna shrugged and bit into the bread, resting her head on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Draco. It doesn't matter. I wanted company. What you're doing right now is more than enough," Luna said softly. Draco's heart fluttered.

"Could you sing for me?" he asked nervously. Luna giggled.

"Of course," she said. She cleared her throat.

Luna sang softly about love and joy. The sounds she was able to make sent shivers down his spine, and he held her hand tighter. He knew he would always remember this moment. The moment he fell in love with Luna Lovegood.


	14. Everything Would Be Okay

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short story**

 **Prompt: "Jumper [Object]"**

 **Word count: 1909**

 **Title: "Everything would be okay"**

 **Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter. (I realized that I never bothered to put my name here, only on my profile, and I never mention it on my stories. It's Blue Rose, I'm going to start adding that so you guys know.) Warning: Slash pairing. Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter. Happy reading!**

 **~Blue Rose**

He was hardly aware of the tears glistening on his cheeks; they were nearly always there. He rubbed the scratchy, deep green knitted jumper between his fingers. He sniffed, his slender, calloused fingers tracing the letter "F" on the front of the sweater.

It was his birthday today. It had been eleven months since the war was over, and people were still recovering from the casualties sustained in the Final Battle.

He should've been celebrating, really. Voldemort was gone, he lived to see his twenty-first birthday, and his business was booming. He had hoped for this day for so long, just… just not without Fred beside him.

He closed his eyes to try and dispel the sudden image of Fred wearing this exact jumper two years prior. It only made it worse, because Fred's laughing face was burned into the inside of George's eyelids.

He wished he could just sleep without tear-inducing dreams plaguing him. No, they weren't dreams of the death he'd seen far too much of. No, they were dreams of a life unlike any other. Dreams of a life of a short, brown-eyed, red-headed man.

Sometimes, it was just Fred smiling his crooked grin. Other times, it was Fred wrapping an arm around Ginny when she was a little girl and had fallen and scraped her knees. The ones that hurt George the most were the ones where Fred was balancing a little girl on his shoulders with a faceless woman by his side, smiling without a care in the world. Where Fred was holding his wife's hand as she pushed the same girl from inside of her. Where Fred was winking at Dean Thomas as Ginny announced her pregnancy. It was the things Fred would never have that made George cry harder.

He slid off his bed and drew his legs up to his chest, not quite sure if it was so he could ward off the cold or to protect himself from the echoes of Fred's laughter.

He stared dejectedly around his dark, cold room with clear vision and dry eyes. He didn't notice when he stopped crying. He eyed the window, watching the rain strike the panes again and again, relentless in their attack. The sound was sharp and loud, filling the silent apartment. George stared out into the dark night, seeing only his reflection in the endless sea of black.

There were no stars, that night. No moon to light the eerie shadows. There was only clouds and rain. Somehow, George thought, it's like the sky had opened up just for him. Maybe each drop was one George himself cried, and Heaven was returning them because Fred didn't want them.

George imagined Fred sitting up there, trying to give him laughter, even after George only gave him tears. _You hear that, Georgie? We're finally twenty-one. Your lucky number._ And Fred would chuckle, his bottom lip slightly jutted out as his mouth curled into a good-natured grin. The right side of his mouth would raise first, quickly followed by the left. Barely noticeable if you weren't looking for it. Or if you didn't know that face better than your own.

George almost smiled. _Almost_. He sighed, and heard a knock at the door. He stood silently, walking the short distance between the bed and the door. His feet slapped on the hardwood floor, the sound ringing throughout the nearly empty apartment.

He answered his bedroom door, rubbing his eyes. Harry was standing there, dressed in a dark green t-shirt and black jeans. It was still weird to see Harry wearing clothes that actually fit him.

"Harry," George said, dropping his hand.

"Can I come in?" Harry asked, and George stepped back into the room, Harry behind him.

"What is it, Harry?" George asked tiredly, sitting on his bed. Harry remained standing, leaning on the wall by the door.

"We're missing you at _your own_ birthday party," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah?" George asked absently, picking up Fred's jumper from the floor. Harry frowned slightly, but didn't say anything.

"George," Harry started, then shook his head. He opened his mouth then closed it again, rethinking what he was going to say.

"What?" George asked, perhaps more sharply than he intended. Harry sighed.

"I know how hard this must be for you. I mean, it's hard for everyone, but especially for you," Harry said. George was silent, waiting for Harry to continue. "A mother lost her son that day. A sister lost her brother. But you- you lost half of yourself."

George closed his eyes, putting his face in his hands. _God, Harry. You make it sound so sappy_. "No. I lost everything that day. He was my everything, Harry. Who am I without F-Fred?" George asked, looking up at Harry through tears. _Merlin, Georgie, don't cry._

Harry walked over to the red-head. He sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "George, I know that this is hard. I know you don't want to move on because you don't want Fred to feel abandoned." Harry winced slightly when he said Fred's name. "But trust me, he doesn't feel that way. He has Tonks, and Remus and Sirius." Harry's voice broke on Remus' name.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry. You're supposed to be comforting me, not the other way around," George joked, smiling a bit at Harry. Harry looked relieved, and chuckled. It startled George; he hadn't heard someone laugh in so long. George reached over and wiped away a tear from Harry's face, and Harry flushed. Embarrassed, he swatted away George's hand.

"You won't tell anyone about this," Harry warned, and George threw back his head and laughed. He could hear how broken it sounded, but he tried. Harry felt something in his heart break a little when he heard it, and at the same time, something heal, too.

"God, no. I wouldn't dream of it," George said, rolling his eyes. It's easy to fool people into thinking you're okay, he thought. Harry shook his head and bit his lip.

"George, you don't have to pretend. Not around me. _Never_ around me," Harry said seriously. He took George's hand and George felt his shoulders slump.

"Am I that easy to read?" George joked half-heartedly. Harry gave him a sad smile.

"George, go ahead and tell me what's on your mind," Harry said. His green eyes were dark with an unknown emotion as George sighed and laid back onto his bed. He stared up at the blue ceiling, and suddenly wondered why he painted it a deep blue that matched the night sky.

 _It's okay, Georgie. Start with that._ "Why did I paint the ceiling blue?" George asked. Harry nearly laughed at the absurdity of his question.

"I don't know, George," Harry said honestly. That's what George loved about Harry. He never lied, and he never got him mixed up with Fred, not even when they were both alive. Not even Mrs. Weasley could do that. _Wow, it only took you three years to figure out you were in love with Harry Potter, Gred… Can't believe you didn't know why you were so relieved and happy when Harry wasn't expelled… Even I could see it..._

"Harry, I miss him so much," George whispered. "I can almost hear him, you know. Laughing and completing my sentences, mumbling jokes into my ear. My good ear, that is," George said, then sighed at his feeble attempts to lighten the mood.

"And what's he saying now?" Harry asked quietly. _You gits, I'm not actually there, you know. If I were, you two would get your heads out of your arses and kiss, already. I can't be there to push you together, you have to do that for me. Merlin, you two are hopeless._

"He's telling me to get our heads out of our arses and kiss," George said, turning his head so he wouldn't see Harry's intense green eyes.

"Then why don't you?" Harry whispered. George slowly looked back at Harry, his eyes filled with hope and tears.

"Do you mean that?" George asked, sitting up. Harry nodded, his eyes half-lidded as his gaze rested on George's lips. George felt himself flush, and he leaned toward Harry, his mouth slightly open.

Their lips inches away from each other, Harry mumbled, "I would never lie to you, George." George closed his eyes and brought his hand to Harry's cheek. Their lips met, and Harry put his hand on the back of George's neck, bringing him closer.

Harry shifted closer to George, and George dropped the jumper to the floor, at the moment not caring about anything other than Harry. Not even the letter "F" on the sweater he threw on the floor, or the boy who once wore it.

Harry's hands left trails of fire on George's skin, making him shudder. Harry's lips were soft, unhesitant and not even shy; complete bliss. George had never felt this before. Something so thrilling and amazing. His senses were filled with everything Harry.

"Oh, Merlin!" Ginny squeaked, dropping the plate of cookies and the glass of milk she brought up. George jumped off of Harry. _When did I end up on top of him?_ George wondered.

"Hey, Ginny," George said, straightening his shirt. Harry coughed, his face flushed as grinned dreamily at Ginny.

"I'm so sorry! Oh, Merlin, I'm such a screw-up," Ginny said, her hand clamped over her mouth. "Oh, I wasn't here! Just, go back to what you were doing!" she said through her hand. Her eyes were wide with shock, and she looked like she wanted to move but couldn't.

To both her and Harry's surprise, George laughed. Harry and Ginny joined in, not really knowing what was so funny, but not really caring. And if you listened close enough, you could almost hear Fred laughing with them.

Outside George's apartment, it stopped raining. Fred looked wistfully at the trio, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the scene, chuckling reluctantly with his twin to hide his joyful tears. _George, since when did you grow up without me?_

George kept laughing, along with Harry and Ginny, not really hearing Fred anymore. But that was okay with Fred. As long as George was happy.

Fred watched as George and Harry left the room and walked downstairs into the joke shop, hand in hand. They didn't spare a second glance at the Weasley jumper on the floor, the letter "F" proudly shining to those who wanted to care too much. It seemed neither of them wanted to look back. And that was okay, because there were no more tears to return, and there were no more clouds to hide the bright moon.

There was only the smiles and laughter, and with that, Fred was finally able to turn his back and walk away, smiling a little as he put his hands in his pockets. He walked slowly to the others, grinning as Lily fussed over the state of his hair. Sirius, linked arm in arm with James and Remus, winked at him as the three men turned to their house. Tonks walked with Lily, chatting about a new recipe she found. Fred glanced around, looking for his young friend.

"Hey, Colin," he said, holding out his hand to the teenage boy sitting on a swing. Colin grinned and took Fred's hand.

"Hey, Fred," Colin said. Fred grinned in reply. Yes, he knew everything would be okay.


	15. Still wearing black

**Hello, readers! This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Themed "Security – the loss of, the finding of the need for, how we act when security is shattered"**

 **Prompt: "Under the bed"**

 **Word count: 2876**

 **Title: "Still wearing black"**

 **Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter. Happy reading!**

 **~Blue Rose**

Hermione was opening yet another box of books with Draco and her son beside her. She looked around their new house, smiling a bit at the empty bookshelves just waiting to be filled.

She had recently moved with her family because there were multiple attempts to break into her previous house and harm Draco and her son, Scorpius. The house was too dangerous, so they moved.

Hermione had started to put up the wards, including anti-Apparition wards when her son distracted her and demanded she help put away the books.

Draco looked up from the box of books and swept his hair out of his face. His once cold, silver eyes had softened with a tender kindness. His hair now hung into his face, no longer slicked back. Hermione bit her lip as she looked at the man she loved so much, knowing how she would never stop loving him.

Hermione had tried to tame her bushy hair, but gave up when Draco told her he liked it. She had grown into a young, sweet mother. But she was still passionate and never gave up, and Draco loved her all the more for it.

Draco watched Scorpius run to the miniature chair in the corner, and stole a quick kiss from Hermione when Scorpius wasn't watching. Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled anyways. Draco winked at her, and she blushed a little.

She was picking up her wand to levitate the books onto the shelf when there was a loud pounding on the door.

"Draco Malfoy, we know you're there!" A voice came through the door. Draco exchanged a look with Hermione, paling. Had people really found them already? There was a loud bang on the other side of the door, and Draco quickly made his way to the window.

"Oh, my god," he breathed. "Hermione, there has to be at least fifty of them," he said. He backed away from the window and picked a confused Scorpius up from his chair.

"Expecto Patronum!" Hermione said, thinking of the day she found out she was pregnant.

It was like it happened yesterday. Hermione hadn't been feeling well at all for a few weeks, and Draco took her to St. Mungo's, fussing over her like an overprotective parent. She was taken to see Harry, who had become a Healer instead of an Auror. Harry ran the usual spells on Hermione, then broke out into a grin and called Draco in. He told the couple that Hermione was pregnant, and Draco had swept Hermione into his arms, crying and smiling so much she thought his face might split in two.

An otter burst from the tip of her wand, darted out of the house and went on its way to Harry and Ginny's house. Another bang went throughout the house, and the door shook on its hinges.

"We're coming in!" The person on the other side of the door announced. Draco's eyes widened and he picked up his wand, spinning to face the door.

"Go! Hermione, go! Take Scorpius and run!" Draco yelled to Hermione over her shoulder. She wanted to stay, to help Draco, but knew her two-year-old son came first. She shook her head, grabbed her wand and her son, and ran up the stairs of their home.

She could hear the shouts and explosions from the yard as she ran to the master bedroom. She turned and locked the door just in time to hear the front door come crashing in. She heard Draco shouting spells at the intruders, and she imagined him diving behind the chairs as the mob of drunk men fired spell after spell at him.

She wiped away the tears from her face, setting down her son as she knelt beside him. He was crying silently, clutching his teddy bear to his chest tightly. Hermione summoned her best smile, cupping his face as she placed a kiss on his forehead.

"Scorpius, baby, we're going to play hide and seek. Daddy is going to find us, like last time. We're going to hide under the bed, where the monsters can't find us. Only come out if it's Daddy, okay, honey?" Hermione asked, her voice low. The sounds of the duels were still echoing around the house, and the two-year-old flinched when he heard glass shatter. He nodded his understanding, running across the room to the bed.

He slid under it, and crawled to the trap door there. Hermione followed, albeit slower because it was a tight fit for her under the queen sized bed.

Hermione opened the latch in the floor, placing her hand on top of Scorpius' head so he wouldn't hit his head on the wooden bedframe as he shimmied into the small room there. It was only made for one, and Hermione couldn't fit. She cursed inwardly; she knew she should've cast the extension spell on the room as soon as they arrived.

It was a small room, shelves full of food and spare clothes. There was a lamp in the corner, and Scorpius eyed his surroundings.

"Mama?" Scorpius asked, his lip quivering as he looked up at Hermione. She reached a hand into the cupboard-like room. She smoothed his curly blonde hair back from his face. She was going to go help Draco, Scorpius would be okay.

"It's okay, baby. It's alright. Don't make a sound, or the monsters will hear you. I'll be right outside, and don't come out until I send in the glowing otter, or until Daddy sends in the glowing kitty, okay?" Hermione asked quietly. Scorpius nodded, and Hermione closed the latch over her son. She hoped he would remain silent, no matter what he heard.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and crawled back out from under the bed. She stood, her wand poised expectantly as she faced the door. The house was eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm. She couldn't hear anyone. Not even Draco coming up the stairs to tell her everything was okay.

She took a deep breath, and that's when there was a thunder of footsteps coming up the stairs. She heard them open doors and come down the hallway closer to the room she hid in. There was a pounding at her door. She nearly jumped, but narrowed her eyes and gripped her wand tighter.

"Hermione Granger, we've gotten rid of that Death Eater scum. It's okay, now. He's gone, he can't hurt you anymore," A man slurred through the door. Hermione's blood ran cold, and her hand shook slightly. Where was Draco?

"Malfoy. My name is Hermione Malfoy," she said, her voice cutting through the air like steel. "And I demand that you leave my home," she said. She could hear multiple people chuckle on the other side of the door.

"Look, Miss Granger, you've obviously been put under some sort of spell. You were married to a Death Eater. You had a son with him. That's not something Hermione Granger would do. You're not in your right mind," another man said, exasperated. Hermione felt the anger boil through her. So these were the people that kept sending them love potion antidotes and dark spell removers.

"My name is Hermione Malfoy, and you are in my home. Uninvited," she said, her voice strong and powerful. She heard the men yell, and she started warding the doors.

"She's mental!"

"- not right in the head…"

"Needs to be saved, of course."

"-Poor thing…"

"She's just as bad as them!"

"There's no hope for her!"

"Gotta get rid of her!"

"Yeah!"

"Let's do it!"

"Guys, should we really take care of her? She's got a kid in there." a new man's voice cut through the others, the only one not slurred or unreasonable. Hermione hoped they would listen to him as she continued with the wards.

"The kid's just as bad as his parents. No doubt they raised him to be a muggle-hating, dark wizard," a man spat.

"He's just a kid!" a woman cried.

"Shut it, Ilene! We brought you because you asked to be here," the same man said. No one spoke, and Hermione prayed for a few more minutes to finish the wards.

"Alright, it's settled; we're going in," the man said. It seemed like he was the leader.

"That's Hermione Granger! She's best friends with Harry Potter! Have you ever thought about what happens if we do this?" the woman yelled. There was a scuffle on the other side of the door and a muffled yelp. Hermione winced slightly. It sounded like somebody was subduing the woman.

Hermione shook her head, scowling as she felt the spells slamming against the wards.

"Damn, she warded the door!" someone said.

"She'll get tired. These are temporary," someone else yelled. Hermione shook her head and sat on her bed. She took a deep breath as she felt a strong surge of power hit the protection spells.

Draco, she prayed silently. Harry, Ron, please get here soon.

She could've been in that room for only thirty minutes, but she felt so tired. She felt a crack in the protection when a powerful spell hit the wards, shattering them. Hermione shot up in her bed, and cast a quick glamour spell on the trap door under the bed.

The men burst through the door, and Hermione flung spells as soon as they entered her line of sight. She was ready to collapse when the last man slumped on the ground, blood oozing from his head. She couldn't recall what spells she had been using.

She looked at her room. There was blood splattered on the walls, and Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat as she counted the bodies. Twenty-four, and a quick spell she learned from Ron confirmed they were all alive, but unconscious.

Hermione glanced at the bed, wondering if her son had heard the yells and cries of the men that fell around her. He probably did, she didn't cast a _Silencio_. She sighed and made her way past the bodies, and _accio'd_ the wands of the strangers to her. She was met with a surprise when fifty-seven wands flew to her feet.

She wiped a tear from her cheek, and walked downstairs after tying the invaders up and locking them in the guest room. She looked around the living room, her heart shattering.

There were so many bodies on the floor, and there was blood everywhere. The air was buzzing with magic, and there were singe marks on the walls and the chairs. She performed the same spell she did earlier, her stomach sinking when she learned that every man was dead, or in severe condition. That meant Draco was either dying or already there.

She searched the room for Draco, and a gasp escaped her when she found him. He was sprawled on the floor behind a bookshelf in a puddle of his own blood.

A sob escaped her and she threw herself on top of him, searching his neck for a pulse.

"Draco!" she wailed, pulling his torso into her lap as she rocked back and forth, leaning over his body as if to protect him from more harm. "Draco, my love, please. Please," she mumbled, tears cascading down her face and onto Draco's pale, unmoving one.

"Hermione!" Harry called, barging in through the door. Hermione looked up at him through her tears, still holding her husband's corpse. Harry gulped at the sight that met him.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. Harry's eyes shot to her, and he rushed over to her. He closed his eyes and knelt beside her.

"Is he-" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded, sobbing over Draco's body.

"Scorpius- he's upstairs, in my room, under the bed," Hermione said, trying to regain her composure. She raised her wand and cast her Patronus. The otter bounded happily up the stairs as Harry followed closely.

Hermione looked down at the blonde, stroking his cheek.

"Draco, my love, I don't think I've told you I loved you recently," Hermione said quietly, brushing his hair from his face. She leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss, hoping that he might kiss her back. He remained still.

He made her feel so safe before. You'll never have to be afraid when I'm around, Draco had once told her. She believed him.

"So this is what it feels like," she whispered, blinking against the tears in her eyes, "to be afraid." She gazed down at his perfect face. White-blonde hair that turned silver in the moonlight, high cheekbones and velvety lips. Eyes she hoped he would open.

 _Draco Malfoy was declared dead in his home, May 2, 2002, exactly four years after the defeat of Voldemort. He had just moved into a new house in hopes of starting fresh when a group of fifty- seven drunken men and women invaded the house. Hermione Malfoy (nee Granger) fled to the master bedroom where she hid her son under the bed as Draco defended his home. The family received no warning and was caught off guard. Draco Malfoy killed thirty-three of the men before he was disarmed and hit with the leg-locker jinx, followed by multiple diffindos. He died of blood loss as his wife fought off the remaining twenty-four invaders, defending her two-year-old son, Scorpius._

 _Healer Harry Potter had been called by Hermione Malfoy's Patronus before the men were able to enter the Malfoy residence, and arrived to find Mrs. Malfoy cradling her husband's body in her arms. Healer Harry went upstairs and brought the frightened Scorpius Malfoy from his hiding place. The pair waited in the bedroom until the Aurors were called and arrived._

 _Draco Malfoy died to protect his wife, his son, and, unknown to both him and his wife, his second unborn son. He fought in self- defense, and we would not have the cure to the obliviate charm today if it weren't for his sacrifice, as his eldest son went on to make the Anti-Obliviate charm._

 _"I wouldn't be here today if Draco hadn't have stopped so many of them that day. I don't think I could've protected Scorpius and little Lucius if it weren't for what Draco did" -Hermione Malfoy, three years after the murder of her husband._

 _It is still unknown why the attack happened, though the Ministry suspects that the mob was drunk and angry because Draco Malfoy was given a light sentence. Draco Malfoy did not die an ex-Death Eater, nor did he die a Dark Wizard. He was a family-man, and a hero to the Wizarding community._

Hermione sniffled and cut the article out of the Daily Prophet. She gazed proudly at the picture of her son receiving an award for inventing the Anti-Obliviate charm. She put the papers in a frame, hanging it all the wall next to the first picture she ever took with Draco.

Draco had his arm draped over Hermione's shoulders, his hair slicked back. Narcissa Malfoy stood by his side, clutching his arm for support, smiling proudly at her son. On Hermione's other side stood Harry, grinning and flicking a strand of Hermione's rogue hair out of his face. All three of them stood in their graduation robes, diplomas in hand. On Hermione's left ring finger was the engagement ring Draco had given her hours before the picture was taken.

If Hermione squinted, she could see Ron talking to Pansy Parkinson, the pair glaring at Draco and Hermione's back. Hermione smiled softly as she thought of the two of them. Pansy would be married to Ron less than a year after the photo was taken, and they'd have twins eight months after their marriage.

Narcissa Malfoy was still alive and kicking, and was sending funds to S.P.E.W. and many muggle charities. Despite her old age, she managed to look thirty again, and had her own beauty care line.

Harry married Ginny, and the two of them were often seen at Quidditch matches for Ginny's old team, The Holyhead Harpies. Harry retired from his Healer job, and taught DADA at Hogwarts. Ginny managed to land a spot as the Charms teacher after Professor Flitwick retired.

Scorpius married Lily Luna Potter and invented the spell that reversed the Obliviate charm. He was expecting his first child, a boy, named Harry Draco Malfoy. He would never forget the day his father died, and he hid under the bed as he heard the thumps of bodies hitting the floor. He still had nightmares about that day, hearing their screams as his mother tore through them. When he first arrived at Hogwarts, he could already see the Thestrals.

Lucius Jr. was helping to run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, much to Hermione's disapproval and Ron's glee. He was developing a new line of toffees that were supposed to change your appearance, with the help his distant cousin and close friend Teddy Lupin.

Hermione Malfoy had become Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her wand never left her side, and she never felt safe again after Draco left her. She'd long since lost her sense of security, and that weighed on her, still. She never took off her ring, and she still wore black.

She was a married woman, after all.


	16. Always Tomorrow

**Hello, readers. This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "Tomorrow [word]"**

 **Word count: 898**

 **This is written in George's perspective, just so you know.**

 **~Blue Rose**

I opened my eyes. Where was I? I was in bed, and now I was in a place that looked suspiciously similar to the Gryffindor common room. But it'd been two years since I'd been there, and right now I was on the run with Fred and Lee.

"George, there you are," Fred said, standing up from a chair by the fire. I blinked; I hadn't seen Fred before he had spoken.

"Where… Where are we?" I asked. My brain felt fuzzy, my movements sluggish.

"Where are you? You're in the tent with Lee. Where am I? Somewhere else, I suppose. Somewhere different," Fred said, nodding matter-of-factly. I furrowed my brows.

"I- what?" I asked, blinking slowly and shaking my head.

"You'll understand later, Georgie," Fred said. I rolled my eyes. We were twins, the same age, and Fred knew something I didn't?

"What are we doing here?" I said instead. Fred gestured for me to sit and I did, looking up expectantly at Fred. Fred sighed and took a seat next to me. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

"I have to tell you something important, Gred," Fred said gravely. I quirked my head to the side, waiting for my usually cheerful twin to continue.

"There will be a time when you will doubt everything, including life itself. I need you to remember this, George, that I will always be there for you," Fred said. I scratched my forehead, really confused. What was Fred talking about? How did he know what would happen in the future?

"You're not really Fred, are you?" I asked skeptically. Surprisingly, Fred laughed, and then I was convinced. _This is Fred_ , I thought.

"Of course I am. I'm just not the same one you know," Fred said. I sighed. "I know it's confusing, George. But I hope that one day, you'll understand," Fred said. It was quite vague, but I didn't dwell on that.

"Am I dreaming?" I asked. Fred chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I thought you would've asked that earlier. Of course you're dreaming. The me you know is keeping watch right now, while you sleep," Fred said. I nodded, though it didn't make sense to me at all.

"What happens?" I asked. "That makes you have to come visit me here?" Fred rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, George. Haven't you ever heard the rules of time-travel?" Fred asked. I sat forward eagerly.

"So, you are from the future?" At this, Fred frowned a bit.

"Yes and no. I can't really say anything more than that," Fred explained. Or, tried to, at least. He succeeded in giving me a headache, however.

"I'm not sure I get it," I admitted. Fred snorted and patted my hand mockingly.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Fred said. I scowled, but it was without malice.

"Why is it so important?" I asked. A strange expression, perhaps guilt, passed Fred's face before he smoothed his features into a smile. He looked a little pained, to me.

"It just is, George. You can't give up on life," Fred finally said quietly. I shook my head.

"When am I going to wake up?" I asked, changing the subject. Fred smiled.

"Eager to leave, aren't we?" Fred drawled, twirling a feather in his hand that hadn't been there a moment before.

"The only bad thing is that I have to go back to your ugly face," I said, crossing my arms. Fred grinned at me before he shot up from his chair. He had his head turned to the side as if listening to someone that wasn't there. I looked up at him in alarm.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my chair. Fred nodded twice before he looked down at me.

"It's okay. I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow?" Fred asked. He looked faintly amused. It was on the tip of my tongue to say agree and say, "Tomorrow" back, but everything faded to black before I could say anything.

~BR~

 _Two Years After Fred's Death_

I looked down at Fred's tombstone with tears in my eyes. I wiped them away and knelt, putting a hand on the cold stone. "Mischief Managed" had been carved into the stone in small letters by someone, presumably Harry, above the words "Son, twin, prankster." I was glad for them, because Fred would've liked them.

I put a flower, a white rose, next to the others there. I sat down, my back against the stone and rested my head back.

"Angelina's been really great, Fred. She's been helping me with the shop, and even with cleaning the apartment." I knew it was stupid to talk to a dead person, but I just couldn't let myself sink into the silence. If I did, as my therapist said, I might retreat back into myself and become depressed again. I hated that feeling, like you were so empty, but at the same time, you were so full of emotions. It was an aching in my heart, a twisting in my stomach, a void where my soul should've been, and I didn't want to feel it again.

I sighed and stood, brushing leaves off my robes. I reached out and patted the tombstone like Fred used to pat my arm.

"Tomorrow," I promised. One day at a time, one step forward, a fresh rose. Always tomorrow.


	17. Good Things Become Blurs

**This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: "Theme: Discovery – what does it take to discover new places,**

 **self-discovery, inner meaning, strength, even treasure"**

 **Prompt: ""Actions speak louder than words," [Speech]"**

 **Word count: 872**

 **Song recommendation: "Dark Piano- PTSD" by Lucas King**

 **Title: "Good Things Become Blurs"**

 **Warnings: Implied attempted suicide. Depression. Some themes may offend readers.**

 **A/N: Draco has depression. Don't believe him when he thinks "your life was**

 **insignificant," alright? He's actually referring to his own life. If you are feeling like I**

 **wrote this to offend you or make you feel like a terrible person, I didn't. I apologize in**

 **advance if this makes you feel like you're not important, it's not supposed to. This is**

 **simply what Draco was feeling.**

 **Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling did.**

 **~Blue Rose**

It was all a blur. There were no faces, only splotches of color in the dismal world of grey. Eventually those colors faded, too. Until all that was left was a sea of never-ending shadows.

The smiles disappeared off the younger ones as they grew into adults, the laughter faded from the world as the adults were given their coffins. All of it changed. All of it blended so well that there was only ever one color.

Silvery eyes that would lose their shimmer. Green gems that would grow dim. Diamonds that would soon cover with dust. All of it.

Draco grew up in this black world. Draco knew it as well as the back of his hand. He was ready for it by the time it visited again. But, the others weren't prepared for the change.

He watched with bored eyes as the others were molded into themselves. As the others shed tears over their losses. Their backs bent forward, knees hitting the ground as their shoulders shook. How pointless.

They hadn't had loss before. They didn't know what it was like to lose your laugh. They didn't know what it was like to lose your beliefs. But Draco did; Draco was given everything so his father could take it away from him.

Draco had seen it all before, done it all before. He'd gotten over the shock of it the first time, and he'd done so the second time, too. Was there really any difference with the sixth or seventh?

He didn't bother to help those that were hurting; they'd get over it. He did, and back then he was just a child made the same way as any other. With a heart and a soul. With rosy cheeks and large, curious eyes.

There was no way to comfort someone who was losing. They didn't want the words. They didn't want your arms around them. They didn't want anything from someone who was winning.

"Actions speak louder than words," Lucius told him. Draco was five at the time. His mother had been crying in the other room. She was begging. For what, Draco didn't know.

He watched her shoulders hunch over, her arms around herself. Draco wanted to go to her, to put a hand on her head. Lucius put his warm hand onto Draco's small shoulder, holding him back.

"She'll be alright," Lucius had said. Draco never knew what his mother was crying about. All he knew was that she had slapped away Lucius' hand when he had reached for her. Actions, yes, speak louder than words.

Draco couldn't count the number of times he'd felt his heart break. Not that he wanted to. He knew that others would, though. He had to wonder why people would ever want to keep track of that. Draco knew he was different, but he just couldn't understand other people.

The one thing Draco had yet to do was die. He was particularly looking forward to that part. He knew that people feared death, but he wasn't sure why.

You were born, you lived, and you died. He was ready to lay his head down one last time by age eleven. He saw it as this: your life was insignificant. It was just another tear drop that added to the pool of others. It was a small afterthought in the Sunday paper that was going to be burned, anyways. Your life was one splash of color in a barrel of paint.

The people you knew, the only people you affected and they were going to die, too. And then, who would be left to remember you?

Draco knew this all so well. Draco knew it like the back of his hand. He'd thought about it over and over and only ever came to one conclusion: That his life was just as important as that one person's you saw four years ago for two seconds in that coffee shop, and you haven't thought of that place for years.

Draco wondered where the colors went when they died. Did it go where he would when he died? He wanted to know. He wanted to see it for himself. It was perhaps the only thing that made him excited.

Draco knew what it was like to have everything. He'd had it all, once. He had a wife, he had a son, a mother, a father, and a friend. But all good things come to an end.

Everything gathered dust before you could clean it. Everything would be taken if you put it down for a moment. Nothing was the exception.

Draco wanted to discover where all the life went. Draco wanted to know, and the only place that could answer his questions was the next world .

Maybe that was why he had a bag of ice in one hand and a razor in the other? He would've denied that he was depressed if you were to ask him. He would've said, "I'm not depressed. I'm just the only one that wants to discover what it means to _see_ color."

He knew that he wasn't a madman. He knew he wasn't depressed, despite what people might think. But, as Lucius always said, "Actions speak louder than words."


	18. A Reason To Be Happy

**This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Themed - Disappointed vs Proud**

 **Prompt: "Breaking out into song [prompt]"**

 **Word count: 817**

 **Title: "A Reason To Be Happy"**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the song "Dear True Love," which is the song Draco sings. The song is by Sleeping At Last, this is also my song recommendation: "Dear True Love" by Sleeping At Last. I did not write Harry Potter. JK Rowling did.**

 **Warning: Slash pairing, it also may be terrible. It's my first time trying to write fluff.**

 **~Blue Rose**

Draco cleared his throat as he stood up from his place at the Slytherin table, summoning a guitar with his wand. Pansy looked up at him, with a small knowing smile on her face.

"Excuse me!" Draco said loudly. The Slytherin table quieted down and looked to the eighteen year old expectantly. The rest of the Great Hall was still talking, and eventually the Slytherins started poking the Hufflepuffs and the Hufflepuffs poked the Ravenclaws, who poked the Gryffindors. Everyone turned to Draco in curiosity.

The Great Hall was quiet, the teachers were silently watching Draco, wondering what could possibly be happening. Maybe they thought Draco was going to stir up some trouble like he used to before the war.

Draco cleared his throat and started to walk, slowly, towards the other end of the hall, his fingers moving over the guitar strings. Pansy was biting her lip as she watched her best friend, both extremely proud and worried with what Draco was about to do. Draco started to sing, and the entire room listened in amazement.

 _"Dear true love, I'm a writer without any words, I'm a story that nobody heard, when I'm without you,"_ he sang. Pansy could see Harry Potter from a gap in the tables, and his eyes widen when he heard the lyrics. She smirked.

Draco continued to sing, and by then everyone was wondering who he singing it to. Nobody seemed to notice the tears in Harry's eyes when Draco sang, _"So with this ring, may you always know one thing: What little I have to give, I will give it all to you. You are my one true love."_

Draco's voice was getting softer as he neared the Gryffindor table, and it dawned on people he was singing to someone in Gryffindor. They gaped when Draco vanished the guitar and pulled a velvet box out of his pocket. Pansy was beaming, wiping a tear from her eye.

Draco was pale, but he was smiling softly when he stopped in front of Harry. Pansy stood up on the bench so she could better see what was happening. Ron was looking shocked and angry that Draco was there, and Hermione seemed to figure out what was happening faster than the redhead. She gasped, putting her hands over her mouth.

Harry was crying, smiling up at the blond behind one hand. Draco cleared his throat again, getting down on one knee in front of the savior of the Wizarding World. He opened the box, and Pansy knew what ring would be found inside. It was a plain silver band and a pure white stone with a small serpent- shaped ruby set in the center, which Pansy had helped pick out.

"Potter, will you marry me?" Draco asked breathlessly. Ron was spluttering, looking like he wanted to yell at Draco, until he saw Harry's reaction. Harry was nodding, half-laughing, half-crying.

"Yes! Yesyesyesyes!" Harry said, much to the shock of everyone else. Draco took Harry's hand and slid the ring on Harry's finger. Harry pulled his fiancé up by the collar and kissed him soundly.

"Woo!" Pansy shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. She, along with Hermione and Ginny, had been the only ones to know of Draco and Harry's relationship. She had helped Draco not mess things up with Harry. She was the only one that knew Draco was going to propose to Harry.

"Yeah, Malfoy and Harry!" Ginny yelled. The Great Hall was still shocked into silence. Pansy giggled when she saw Hermione hit Ron over the head; he had been staring at Harry and Draco gaping like a fish.

"Harry!" Ron yelled finally. He stood up, clearly embarrassed to see his friend snogging another man- his childhood enemy, too. Ron walked out of the hall, one hand shielding him from the pair. The rest of Gryffindor followed, silently, and abandoning their meals. They all looked rather confused and shocked to Pansy.

Hermione and Ginny stayed behind, though.

"We're so proud of you two," Pansy heard them say. Harry and Draco didn't seem to hear them, though, seeing as Harry was eating Draco's face. Hermione rolled her eyes and kept eating, Ginny sniggered.

The teachers finally seemed to come to their senses and they sprung up.

"Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy, please come with me," McGonagall said briskly. She walked towards the boys and literally pulled them by their ears out of the hall. Pansy laughed, returning to her meal.

She ignored the squeals coming from the Hufflepuff table, and the excited chatter coming from her own. The Ravenclaws were in deep discussion, which Pansy had no interest in hearing.

 _I'm proud of them, too,_ she thought. _They've gotten over their differences and they're in love. I'm happy for them._

It was about time someone was happy. It had been a while since someone had a reason to be.


	19. Deal

**This is written for The Houses Competition.**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short story**

 **Prompt: "Cedric Diggory [character]"**

 **Word Count: 989**

 **Title: "Deal"**

 **Disclaimer: I did not write Harry Potter, I don't own the characters, and I'm not JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: To be clear, this isn't slash. Cedric is the older brother, Harry is the younger. That would be incest. Incest is a terrible, terrible thing. I mean- what if you were shipped with your brother or sister? Your cousin? Your mom?! Yeah. *shivers* Please, Little Fingers, don't ever type that again. That's a really gross thought.**

 **Anyways, mentioned Cho/Cedric. This is in between the first and second task, fourth year.**

 **~Blue Rose**

Cedric was lying on his back by the Black Lake at night, staring up at the stars. He heard someone walk up to him, but he didn't look over. If it was a teacher, he'd take the punishment without complaint, he wasn't going to be bothered by it.

"Diggory?" It was a boy's voice. Harry Potter's voice, Cedric recognized. That made Cedric look over to the passerby.

"Yup. What are you doing here, Potter?" Cedric asked, sitting up on his elbows. He quirked an eyebrow at Harry, who was blushing a little in the dim light.

"I could ask you the same thing," Harry said. Cedric chuckled and patted the ground next to him.

"If you sit, we can tell each other all about why we're here," Cedric said. Harry looked conflicted, but he finally sat next to the older boy. After a few minutes of silence, Cedric said, "You really didn't enter your name in the Goblet, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm fourteen years old, not stupid," Harry said irritably. _He must be so tired of people asking him that question_ , Cedric thought.

"Some people would say there's no difference," Cedric joked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Harry chuckled and laid down on his back, using his hands as a pillow for his head.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked quietly after a few moments.

"What?" Cedric asked.

"I can never tell what you're thinking. Normally, people are so easy to read, but you…" Harry trailed off, blushing. Cedric smiled.

"I'm really sorry you got dragged into this Tournament, Harry," Cedric said sincerely. Harry looked at him in surprise.

"You're the only one that thinks so," Harry said bitterly.

"I don't think that's true," Cedric said, frowning.

"Cedric, when was the last time someone asked you if you were feeling okay?" Harry asked seriously. Cedric opened his mouth to answer when he realized what he was going to say.

"Right after I was burned by the dragon," he said.

"Exactly. Everyone thinks it's so cool be a champion, but they don't get it, do they," Harry stated. It wasn't a question.

"You seem too familiar with all this, Harry," Cedric said.

"Do you know what it's like to be famous? This is what fame is. People staring at you and expecting you to be fine because they wouldn't be able to handle you if you weren't. I never asked for my parents to be murdered by Voldemort or to have survived that curse. Fame isn't something you choose, Cedric," Harry said softly, yet angrily. Cedric sighed.

"You are too young to know that," Cedric said softly, sorrow edging his voice. Harry snorted.

"Why are you awake?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

"Cho broke up with me," Cedric said.

"Oh."

"Because, apparently, I'm cheating on her with Fleur Delacour. At least, she thinks so," Cedric explained, laughing softly. Harry chuckled in spite of himself. Cedric thought he would've made Harry uncomfortable for bringing up Cho, but Harry didn't seem bothered. Maybe Cedric was wrong about Harry in more ways than he thought. "Why are you here?"

"I couldn't sleep," Harry said.

"Did you have a nightmare? Or were you just worried?" Cedric asked, genuinely concerned for the younger boy.

"Nightmare," Harry whispered. Cedric looked at him through the corner of his eye. Harry had a look of pain on his face as he remembered the dream.

"Can you tell me what it was about?" Cedric asked softly. He didn't want to pressure Harry, or make him feel cornered, so he didn't look at him.

"I… I can remember it, you know. The night my parents died," Harry whispered. "My mum was standing- standing in front of me. She was begging him not to kill me." Harry's voice broke.

"Merlin," Cedric said. "I… God, Harry. I didn't know." He was horrified by the thought of it.

"No one does. It's fine," Harry said airily. Cedric sat up, finally looking Harry in the eye.

"That's terrible, Harry," Cedric said seriously.

"I know," Harry said after a moment's hesitation. Cedric wondered if people even knew Harry. It didn't seem like it, the way he spoke about things.

"So… that's what your dream was about?" Cedric laid back down on the grass, not looking at Harry as he changed the subject.

"Yes," Harry lied. Cedric could tell he wasn't being truthful, but didn't want to push Harry. He respected Harry's privacy, realizing that that's what Harry wanted after constantly being in the spotlight. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Are you ever afraid? About being in the Triwizard Tournament?" Harry asked. He said it in a way that wasn't nervous or embarrassed, but like he was merely concerned for Cedric's well-being. It sounded odd coming from someone as young as Harry. It was like Cedric was speaking with an adult who had seen terrible things.

"All the time," Cedric admitted with a laugh, brushing away his thought of, He probably has.

"Let's be afraid together, then," Harry said softly. Cedric turned his head to look at the younger boy, but Harry was looking at the sky. "Let's make a promise." Harry sat up on his elbows, looking Cedric directly in the eye. "I'll protect you with my life and you'll protect me with yours." Harry stuck out his hand in a gesture so innocent and hopeful that it tugged on Cedric's heartstrings. Harry seemed so young, all of a sudden.

Harry was, Cedric thought, the perfect actor. It was saddening. Cedric knew that Harry probably had a lot of secrets. He wondered who else knew them. He hoped that he would get to know Harry better. He seemed like he needed someone like Cedric to talk to.

But could he trust Harry? That thought was banished from Cedric's mind as quickly as he thought it. There was no doubt; of course he could.

Cedric took Harry's hand.

"Deal."


	20. Erised Backwards Doesn't Hurt Less

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "Mirror of Erised [object]"**

 **Word Count: 452**

 **Title: Erised Backwards Doesn't Hurt Less**

 **Disclaimer: I didn't write Harry Potter, guys. That would be JK Rowling you're looking for.**

 **~Blue Rose**

Draco couldn't sleep. He had been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, his eyes refusing to close. After another fifteen minutes, Draco sighed and sat up, deeming his quest for sleep pointless; he obviously wasn't going to get any sleep. His father's latest letter left him feeling angry and upset.

He pushed the covers back from his bed, glancing around at the other first years in the room. No one stirred when Draco stepped lightly out of bed and put on his slippers. He was just learning how to cast a warming charm, and the floors were freezing.

He lit his wand with a whispered _lumos_ before silently creeping out of the dorm room and the common room. He walked along the halls, clad in his silk silver and green pajamas.

He shivered, drawing his arms around him. He didn't have a destination in mind, but just walked, letting Hogwarts take him where she would.

Forty-five minutes, seven moving staircases, three wrong turns that led to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and a close call with Filch later, Draco came to a door. There was nothing special about it, but he could hear quiet sobs echoing from the other side.

Draco hesitantly stepped forward and pushed the door open, and thankfully it didn't creak.

He went inside the room, where a large mirror stood in the center. The cries were louder, but Draco didn't see anything.

"Hello?" His voice echoed into the moonlit room and the weeping stopped immediately. He warily observed his surroundings. A flash in the mirror caught his attention.

He walked up to it, hearing a scuffling to his left, but he was too distracted by what he saw in the mirror.

It was him, standing with his father. Lucius had his hand rested proudly on Draco's shoulder. Narcissa stood beside the pair, smiling lovingly down at Draco. He was older, wearing a prefect badge and holding the Quidditch Cup, smirking.

Draco knelt before the mirror, at a loss for words. He gaped, his father's words echoing in his head.

 _You were only ever a Malfoy in blood._

 _You disappoint me._

 _You are a disgrace._

 _I can't stand to look at you._

 _Were you even thinking?_

Draco felt the tears start to fall. He brought up his hand and touched the prefect badge on mirror-Draco's robes.

"I'm so sorry, Father," Draco whispered thickly.

He looked up to read the words "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi." He stared blankly for a second before realizing, "Erised is desire spelled backwards. Of course." It didn't make it hurt any less, though.

He didn't notice the person next to him, hidden under an invisibility cloak, start to cry again.


	21. Freak

**_House: Hufflepuff_**

 ** _Category: Short story_**

 ** _Prompt: "Normal [word]"_**

 ** _Word count: 908_**

 ** _Title: "Freak"_**

 ** _Warning(s): Abuse and slightly-creepy fans._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling, though I can see how you might confuse our names. "Spittingllama7856" and "Blue Rose" is just so close to "JK Rowling" isn't it?_**

 ** _~Blue Rose_**

 _"Freak!" Petunia screeched. She threw a frying pan at Harry._

Harry ducked against the flashes of the cameras, drawing his cloak up around him to hide his face. People were yelling at him.

"We love you!" a group of girls, no older than thirteen, yelled. Harry grimaced. It was disturbing to him to see girls as young as those declare their everlasting love for him.

 _"You should've died along with your rotten parents!" Vernon bellowed. He struck Harry across the face in a way that wouldn't leave any bruises but would hurt for hours._

"It's been three years since you defeated You-Know-Who! Do you have any comment on the speech Minister Shacklebolt made in your honor today?" a reporter screamed at him. He ignored her, even as she pushed a few people out of her way to get closer to him.

Harry pushed through the crowd, Ron on one side and another Auror on the other. They were offering stinging hexes to anyone that got too close. Ron learned a long time ago people get a little too enthusiastic in the presence of Harry.

 _Dudley slammed his foot into Harry's ribs, his face lit up with glee._

 _"Freak! Freak! Freak!" he chanted._

"Marry us, Harry!" a group of witches screamed off to Harry's right. He didn't look at them. It's not the first time he received a proposal, but coming from "us" it was a bit weird.

There was a series of blinding flashes, and Harry guessed that all the journalists got together to plan a stun-Harry-Potter-with-hundreds-of-cameras-going-off-at-once stunt. Harry staggered for a moment before righting himself.

 _Dudley pushed Harry into the wall, and Harry's head hit the wood with a crunch. He saw stars, but pushed himself off the wall and stumbled to his cupboard. Dudley didn't follow him._

Harry finally reached the Apparation point, and turned on the spot. He endured the familiar feeling of being shoved through a tight, rubber tube with his eyes clamped shut.

 _Harry closed his eyes as he felt Ripper's teeth sink into his leg. Marge was cackling, and Harry bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. Ripper shook his head back and forth, and Harry fell face-first onto the lawn. His eyes were still closed as he bit down hard enough to draw blood. He tasted sweat, blood and mud._

He opened his eyes and sighed in relief. Absolute silence answered him, and Harry gratefully sank into the chair in his office. He absently rubbed his scar, though it stopped hurting long ago.

"Bet you enjoyed that, didn't you, Potter?" Harry looked at Malfoy through the corner of his eye, who was leaning in Harry's doorway, looking far too smug for his own good. He knew Harry couldn't stand his fame and yet he said things like that simply to annoy him.

 _"'Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric? Is he your boyfriend?" Dudley asked. His gang jeered and laughed. The words hurt Harry more than they should've. His heart ached for the boy who died in the maze. For the boy he couldn't save._

"Please go away," Harry said lightly, turning to face Malfoy. His voice was strained. He had a headache and the desire to take a nice, long bath.

Surprisingly, Malfoy warily backed off from Harry and retreated to his own office just across the hall.

Harry sighed and conjured a mirror, wondering if there was something on his face that made Malfoy leave. He sighed again after he saw the long, bloody scratches on the left side of his face. He didn't even feel it happen. They were made by fingernails; his "adoring fans" somehow got past Ron. Again.

 _Harry was waiting on the platform, searching for Hermione while the Dursleys scowled and left. They wouldn't care if Harry got lost. In fact, they'd probably be grateful. If Harry considered it, he would be glad to be lost._

 _"Harry!" Hermione called just as Harry spotted her. She ran up to him with open arms and Harry gladly hugged her back. He managed to only wince slightly because of his injuries._

 _Hermione pulled back and beamed at Harry. She opened her mouth to no doubt greet him when she frowned._

 _"Harry, are those bruises on your neck?" she asked worriedly. Harry's hand shot up to adjust his shirt to hide them._

 _"No," he said, and blushed while he did. Hermione blushed too. She must've thought Harry had been with someone over the summer, then. As long as she didn't know the truth, that was fine with Harry._

Harry pulled out his wand and cast a few healing charms on his face, then wiped the blood off his cheek with his sleeve. Good as new.

Harry heard a crack and then Ron was beside him, breathless and pushing his hair aside.

"Blimey, you'd think they'd be over you by now," he wheezed. Harry gave a grim sort of smile.

"I wish they were," he said honestly. Ron nodded along, then gave him a grin that had Harry smiling along.

"It'll get back to normal soon."

 _"Freak!" Petunia bellowed and raised her hand to slap Harry._

 _"Marry me!" the woman in pink robes yelled and reached out towards Harry, trying to grab his hands._

"Yeah, Ron. Because my life has always been normal." Ron laughed, and Harry shook his head. _Normal_ is not a word Harry would've used to describe his life. It never was, and probably never would be.


	22. Falling Out of Love and Into Freedom

_House: Hufflepuff_

 _Category: "Themed: Love and/or love lost'_

 _Prompt: ""There was once I time I'd have done anything for your family," [Speech]"_

 _Word count: 835_

 _Title: Falling Out of Love and Into Freedom_

 _Notes: Harry can't have children because he was a Horcrux. I describe the relationship Harry has with Ginny as something more like I thought it might've been, if JK Rowling hadn't swooped in with the epilogue._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That would be the wonderful JK Rowling._

 _~Blue Rose_

Harry stood next to Ginny, staring out over the balcony to the garden below where Ron and Hermione's kids played. Their giggles and shrieks floated up to the pair, the children not noticing the dark cloud that hung around Harry and Ginny.

"Are you really sure about this, Harry?" Ginny asked, quiet yet firm. They still weren't looking at each other. "My family will miss you."

 _My family._

"There was once I time I'd have done anything for your family," Harry said soberly. "But that was a long time ago, Ginny." Ginny nodded in understanding. She already knew what his answer was going to be, he suspected. That's why he fell in love with her.

"I know. I also know that Ron will still think of you as a brother, though. Mum… Well, she'll get over it," Ginny said lamely. Harry looked down at the children that played in the garden. He had wanted a family for the longest time. But who knew that being a Horcrux for seventeen years meant you couldn't have kids? That the darkness that you housed made you infertile? Apparently it did.

Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he whispered. He felt Ginny's stare, but didn't turn to meet it. "I know that you want a family so badly. I'm sorry I can't give it to you." I'm sorry that we don't love each other anymore.

"That's not your fault, Harry," Ginny snapped. "You need to stop blaming yourself for things you can't control."

Harry sighed; he didn't want to get in a fight with her.

"I know. I'm—" he stopped himself from apologizing again. Ginny sighed, knowing what he was going to say before he cut himself off.

"Well, have you got the papers, then?" she asked instead of scolding him like she would've three months ago.

"Yeah," Harry said. He pulled the neatly folded papers out of his pocket and handed them over to his wife without looking at her. He didn't think he could do that. "All you have to do is sign them."

"Got a quill?" she asked absently. Harry conjured one with his wand. "Oh, right. Thanks."

He heard her press the contract to the railing and the quill scratch her signature onto the parchment. "Here," she said after a moment. He glanced over to her and grabbed the quill and paper from her hand.

He put the quill down on the line. He slowly signed his name. If he squinted, it would almost seem like he was back at Hogwarts and filling out his Hogsmeade form again. But he wasn't.

He tucked the papers back into his pocket.

"Well, we can officially start the divorce process, now," Ginny said. She chuckled a little. "Is it wrong to say I'm a little glad?" He was relieved she had voiced it first; he wasn't the only one that felt that way.

He felt a smile form on his face for the first time in weeks.

"Merlin, I thought it was just me," he said lightly. Ginny laughed, and Harry laughed, too.

Even though they both knew that divorce wasn't the easiest thing, they just didn't love each other anymore. Not in the ways that were required for a marriage, anyways.

They hadn't been in love for a long time, Harry's infertility had little to nothing to do with their divorce. It was just the little push Ginny needed to convince herself to agree to it.

Harry didn't think that he and Ginny would've ever had worked things out. They didn't have the kind of love Hermione and Ron had; Molly and Arthur; Bill and Fleur; Fred and Angelina. They didn't endure the endurable. They didn't hope when others did.

They were kids when they met. They didn't know what love was.

Ginny wanted what her parents had had. They had fallen in love at a young age and had babies shortly after that. That's what Ginny thought was supposed to happen.

Harry wanted to sleep next to someone. He wanted to make her breakfast in bed on Mothers' day. He yearned for that.

But Harry and Ginny only fell in love with the idea of each other. A husband and a father. A wife and a mother. They hadn't known that neither of them could be what the other wanted.

He had felt restricted when he lived with Ginny because neither of them wanted to be together but were afraid to say so. They often left at different times of the morning to go to work, without saying goodbye to each other. Harry had been sleeping in the guest room for a year. They hadn't even kissed each other for more months than Harry could count.

And now it was alright, Harry didn't have to think about that anymore. He'd signed those divorce papers. It felt like he was leaving dead weight behind. It felt like he was finally picking up the pieces of his life.

It felt like freedom.


	23. Ready To Go

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "A much needed shower [Prompt/Situation]"**

 **Word count: 444**

 **Title: Ready To Go**

 **Note: The song "Cancer" by My Chemical Romance was my inspiration for this.**

 **~Blue Rose**

Harry sighed as he stumbled out of the fireplace, not even bothering to brush the soot off his robes as he kicked off his shoes. He'd just come from St. Mungo's.

His hands shook as he unbuttoned his coat and dropped it on the couch as he passed it on his way to the bathroom.

He just… just needed a shower.

Slowly, he took off his clothes, letting them drop to the floor carelessly. Stifling a yawn, he stepped into the shower, turning on the water. Shivers went up his whole body, but Harry didn't have the energy to care — he was just so tired. Reaching out for the shampoo from memory, he carried on going through the motions, not even registering that he hadn't even turned on the light.

He didn't want to think about it.

He leaned against the wall, soap suds running down his back, and closed his eyes. It couldn't be true. It _had_ to be a dream. Harry hoped with all his might that this was just a nightmare.

 _Pale skin, looking whiter than the sheets around him. His freckles were dusty, hardly there like they should've been. Peach fuzz where thick red hair used to be._

 _But Ron had smiled. Faint, and barely there. It was still enough to crack his lips and make them bleed. He brought a hand to his gray lips, gently dabbing at the blood._

 _"Oops," he said weakly._

 _"How are you feeling?" That was Harry. Ron tried for a joke, but his voice broke before he even got a word out. Tears rolled down his cheeks for the first time._

 _"I— I'm ready to go now, Harry," Ron whispered._

 _Harry grabbed his hand. Harry wanted to shout at Ron. His hand wasn't supposed to be so heavy! He wasn't supposed to be so cold! "Okay," Harry whispered instead._

 _Ron sighed gratefully. Harry missed Ron's smile._

The water continued to rush over Harry. It wasn't replaced by warm sheets. _This was real_.

Harry sank to the floor of the shower, drawing his knees up to his chest, his head flopping back against the hard, cold wall.

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. He wanted to sleep.

His heart shattered as realization sunk in. It had been surreal before, but now it hit him like a bag of bricks.

The tears fell against his will, quickly turning into silent sobs that almost ripped chest apart.

The freezing cold water mixed with his tears, washing them away and masking all traces of Harry's sorrow. The sound of the drops hitting the tiles were covering up the escaped whimpers.

Ron really was gone.


	24. Their Curse

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Themed— Main character must be from YOUR house (Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw)**

 **Prompt: "Bedtime routine [Action]"**

 **Word count: 525**

 **Title" Their Curse**

 **Warning: Under-age drinking (of Butterbeer).**

 **Note: Do you remember the fifth movie, with the slightly creepy kid who asked Harry during the meeting at the Hog's Head if he could tell them more about how Cedric died? (Look it up if you don't.) That was Zacharias Smith. I actually like him a lot as a character, so I decided to use him for this. Herbert somehow gets drunk from Butterbeer, tolerance of a house-elf I tell you.**

 **~Blue Rose**

"Oh, my god. Could you please be quiet?" Zacharias glared at his roommates. They were, as usual, causing loud noises and general ruckus like they did every night. It was just something that happened every night, much to Zach's irritation.

Zach was used to the other boys in the dorm being obnoxious and he could normally just sleep through the noise, but they were being especially loud, as Hufflepuff had just won a match against Gryffindor.

The boys in question were still hollering, one of them— Herbert, if Zach wasn't mistaken — was somehow intoxicated from Butterbeer, and the other three were laughing and throwing food at each other. Zach was in his pajamas, staring grumpily at the other boys in the dorm from his bed.

Anthony looked over to Zach after his burst-out, peering around a giggling Herbert to get a better look at the moody Hufflepuff.

"You alright there, Zach?" he asked, completely oblivious to the annoyance Zach was feeling with the other four.

"You are aware that it's nearly midnight, right?" Zach asked irritably. Herbert looked over his shoulder and squinted at him, swaying a little as he tried to turn his head in an awkward position.

Zach rolled his eyes. He knew that the next morning Herbert would be staggering over to his bed begging for a Hangover Cure.

"Wha's crawled up yer—" Herbert hiccupped. "ar—" Anthony hit him in the back of his head before he could finish his sentence. "Ow," Herbert muttered, rubbing his head.

"Some of us have to sleep, you know," Zach snapped. He had a very short temper, which only served to amuse Anthony, who was used to Zach's moods.

"Sorry, Zach. Alright, guys," Anthony said, and clapped loudly to get the attention of the others. "Curfew."

There was a collective groan—though the one that Herbert gave was probably from the spinning room.

"Fine." Tamsin, who had been busy throwing Peppermint Imps into Alec Summerby's mouth, sighed and plopped down on his bed. He drew the curtains shut and Zach knew he must've taken some sleeping potion, because Tamsin's snores filled the room in seconds.

The floor was littered with trash and muddy Quidditch gear that made Zach grimace in disgust. After three years of living with these people, he had already grown accustomed to their dirty habits, but it didn't mean he had to like them.

"Night," Anthony said, and shut Zach's curtains closed for him. Zach rolled over, blessed with the almost-silence of Anthony slipping into his pajamas and getting into bed. Zach was half-way into a peaceful sleep when loud retching could be heard from the bathroom.

"Herbert," they all groaned. They'd gone through this routine too many times for it to be normal. First year, Herbert used the bathroom practically every night at twelve, second year it was eating at ten, and this year it was a combination of them both.

 _It's like a night-time routine we have at this point_ , Zach thought as he and Anthony rushed to the bathroom to help Herbert. It was a curse, really.

But it was their curse, and he wouldn't trade it for anything else.


	25. Make Me Forget

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: "Enochlophobia- the fear of crowds"**

 **Word count: 1050**

 **Title: Make Me Forget**

 **Warning: Wow. I don't have anything to put here.**

 **Note: As someone with germaphobia, sometimes things just get too overwhelming and I just— freak out, I guess. It just feels like ants crawling all over and they just want to rip, rip, rip and touch, touch, touch and I just get so scared. It feels dark. That's the best way I can describe it. Anyway, I tried to make Harry's enochlophobia make sense (I don't know if I succeeded). It's like if he has something to distract him, he's okay until he starts to focus on the people around him. (For me, if I focus on cleaning or reading, I can ignore the dark feeling I get a lot of the time.)**

 **I also glossed over the parts of the club, obviously people aren't so civilized that all they're doing is jumping up and down, but this is not the time nor the place to describe that.**

 **There is slash if you just look really, really closely. I can't just let you guys off without a hint of a pairing.**

 **Disclaimer: I didn't write Harry Potter, I am not JK Rowling. I do not write this for profit and I don't think I'd make any money even if I did write it for profit, anyways. No fingers were injured in the making of this story.**

 **~Blue Rose**

Harry looked out over the crowd from his seat, watching the bobbing heads and writhing bodies with the familiar feeling of dread rising in his stomach. The music pounded in his ears and he wondered what he was thinking when he chose this assignment.

He was undercover, searching for a wanted Animagus who'd went unregistered from the Ministry. The form he was supposed to be looking for was a tabby cat, and the Animagi had last been seen in this club. It was worth a shot, Harry thought absently.

Unregistered Animagi had been taken more seriously since the end of the Second Wizarding War, as Peter Pettigrew had been one himself, using that to aid Voldemort.

He took the case, thinking that he couldn't have another Wormtail, even though he knew it was unlikely that this Animagus would be using his abilities like that.

And, if he was being honest, he was bored when he took it. There seemed to be a lull in crime—which was a good thing—but it left a lot of paperwork and sitting around in the Auror office.

Looking back on his decision, Harry realized that he probably should've let Ron take this one. The mass of people in the club were making him paranoid, and the sinking in his stomach just wouldn't go away.

Harry didn't have a good experience with crowds. There were too many people to tell if one of them was watching you; it was an easy escape for criminals to run into a one; and he'd always learned to associate danger with them.

As a child, a crowd meant Dudley and his lackeys. When he went to Hogwarts, they were full of secrets and people who could hex him behind his back. During the war, it meant Death Eaters, and now, as an adult, they meant adoring fans hell-bent on touching him anywhere and everywhere. It was also the perfect vantage point for an ex-convict or the spouse of a captured criminal to curse him.

Harry was not afraid of crowds, thank you very much, just wary of them. At least that's what he would tell you if you were to ask. It's not like the need to scrub his skin off was growing unbearable.

Harry sighed and stood up from the table at the side of the dance-floor, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get the crowd-search over with. Of course he couldn't actually search down every dancer, as he was undercover, but he could always just dance with people.

He considered for a moment the fact that he was only experienced in ballroom dancing, not in . . . whatever style that was. It looked like people were just jumping up and down and slamming into each other. It looked easy enough, Harry reasoned.

Harry ignored the prickling on the back of his neck that told him someone was watching him— he'd done this too many times to know that there was an actual threat. He had long since learned to ignore his fears, or to address them briefly before setting them aside for later. Entering a huge mass of people was just one of those things.

Harry wiggled his way into the throng, bumping into more than one person, before he was pulled into a dance—more like a see-if-you-can-knock-your-partner-out contest, in Harry's opinion— and got swept up with the people.

Every time someone brushed his shoulder, he nearly jumped. When the woman he was dancing with moved closer to him, he almost pulled his wand on her. He was too jumpy.

His partner eventually rolled her eyes and stalked off to someone else—much to Harry's relief. He didn't feel comfortable around her.

He felt like he was suffocating now that he didn't have anything to distract him except for the people surrounding him. So many people. Too many people.

Harry managed to get air in his lungs just as a few people took notice of his state of panic. One girl, around seventeen, worriedly put her hand on his shoulder and yelled over the music:

"Hey, mister, are you alright?" Harry nodded and quickly brushed past her, pushing other people out of the way in his haste to leave.

A few witches grumbled and muttered profanities, and most of the men just flipped him off and went back to their business. Harry didn't care; he just wanted out of there.

By the time Harry broke through the crowd, he was running. He burst through the doors and apparated on the spot.

Harry popped into his and Ron's office in the Ministry, panting. Ron was sitting at his desk, carefully peeling an apple with a knife.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked, not looking up from the fruit. He probably didn't want to cut his finger like he did last time he tried to have a conversation with Harry while peeling fruit. "Did you catch him?"

Harry groaned and plopped into his chair, his heart still pounding and sweat at the base of his neck.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said in a sigh. Ron clucked, somehow knowing what had happened—again.

"Mate, is this about that weird thing you've got with people? They're just people," Ron said, shaking his head. Harry shook his head in frustration.

"Ron, there's a spider on your desk," Harry said seriously. Ron jumped—cutting his finger in the process—and ran out the door, stumbling all the way. Harry snickered when Ron came back in three seconds later, scowling.

"Hardee-har-har, very funny," Ron said. He sat back down in his chair and popped his finger into his mouth.

"It's like that, Ron. It's like that," Harry said, and Ron sighed, so Harry knew that the redhead had caught onto what he was trying to prove.

"Fine, I'm sorry I asked," Ron muttered. Harry chuckled and stood, then made his way over to Ron. He pulled Ron's finger out of his mouth, causing Ron's ears to turn red, just realizing what he'd been doing.

"No, I'm sorry. That was cruel of me," Harry said, and brought out his wand. He healed Ron's cut finger with a flick of his wrist and a murmured incantation, and when he looked up, Ron's smile was enough to make him forget about everything that had happened that day.


	26. Just

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "Haunted house [Setting]"**

 **Word count: 270**

 **Title: Just**

 **A/N: I just love to pick on the Weasleys. Their grief is just too easy to manipulate. And, no, it's not because I just want to cause pain on others while I silently break down inside, weeping over Fred's death! Where on Earth did you get that idea? Jeez, you're making it sound like my heart is in my chest or something. The title was originally "Memories Made To Forget" but my previous chapter is called "Make Me Forget" so... I just didn't like how they sounded so similar. So I changed it.**

 **~Blue Rose**

The sound of his laughter echoed throughout the home, a ghost of his memory. Sometimes George could almost see Fred standing just behind him in the corner of his vision, his grin flashing. If George concentrated hard enough, he could hear Fred's easy breaths, feel them puff onto his ear, the warmth comforting in ways no one else could understand, much less provide.

Ginny still cried. George could hear her at night, along with Ron's heavy footsteps to her bedroom and his comforting voice. It should've been Fred there with her, not Ron.

Fred's hand on the clock was pointed at "home." It was almost easy to believe that Fred was just sleeping in late, or taking three hours in the bathroom, because the clock said so. Fred's smile was still fresh in the Weasley's minds, his jokes still rang in their ears.

He was haunting them. He wiggled his way into their hearts and their home and refused to leave, but they were left with the ghost of him. Just an impression.

The Burrow was holding onto him, too. It couldn't seem to just let him go. Fred's presence was everywhere. The morning coffee was the exact color of his eyes, the few prank toys that Molly hadn't been able to confiscate from him were somehow on the stairs, waiting to be tripped on. But Fred himself was nowhere to be seen. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

George just wanted to leave The Burrow, that haunted house. But it was too painful to leave Fred behind, so George stayed.

Even if it cost him his sanity.


	27. Soon To Be

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "Shopping [action]"**

 **Word Count: 487**

 **Title: Soon To Be**

 **Note: This contains mentions of slash.**

 **~Blue Rose**

Draco wandered around Hogsmeade, trying to find a suitable Christmas gift for his beloved. He'd waited until the last Hogsmeade weekend before break to buy the present, as he thought it'd be easy to get, but it was proving to be difficult.

He already had three bags full of potential gifts, all of which just seemed all wrong, but they would do if he couldn't find the perfect thing in time. If he ever did.

The snow was up to his mid-shin, and he sneered at his soaking feet. Luckily, it wasn't snowing at that moment or his mood would've been much worse.

"Draco!" a girl called. He turned and saw Pansy waving at him from in front of a shop window two stores behind him. "Come here!"

Pansy had been helping him find things to buy, though she wasn't much help because she kept wandering off to The Three Broomsticks to warm up.

"Coming," he muttered before stomping over to her, lifting his knees high to avoid the snow as much as possible.

He came to a stop next to her, and saw her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed slightly in the chill. She looked like a child, experiencing winter for the first time in person.

"Draco, do you think this will do?" she asked, pointing to the shop display. He tore his eyes from her, to the object, and he openly gaped for a few moments.

"Pansy, this is. . . perfect," he breathed. Pansy grinned.

"I knew it'd be perfect, Draco. I have an eye for things like this," she said proudly. Draco was too busy observing the tiny snitch in the window. The advertisement said that it was a locket, and it could hold two pictures. Only the two who were showed in the locket could open it.

"I hope that's not too expensive," Draco breathed, thinking about all the money he'd already spent. Just because he had a lot of money didn't mean he threw it all away, and certainly not now that he was eighteen and soon to be married.

"Well, we can just use all these other things you got for everyone else's' presents," Pansy suggested. "Aren't you going to thank me, Draco?" Pansy asked mock-seriously, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

"Oh, thank you, Pansy," Draco humored her. She wound her arm around Draco's, and both of them looked at the snitch-locket.

"Harry'll love it. And if he doesn't, it's not like he's going to leave you. You're his fiance," Pansy said softly. Draco rolled his eyes, but his heart flipped and he absently touched his left ring finger where his engagement ring rested. He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.

"Captain Obvious," Draco muttered. Pansy slapped his arm before pulling him into the store to buy the locket.

Even as he emptied his pockets to pay for the thing, he was still grinning.


	28. Some Things Never Change

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Short story**

 **Prompt: "Thanksgiving [Event]"**

 **Word count: 1716**

 **Title: Some Things Never Change**

 **Note(s): Draco/Harry, established relationship. Molly can be a little thick sometimes, very narrow-minded.**

 **Beta(s): Magi Silverwolf and Aya Diefair**

 **Please review! Reviews make my frozen heart thaw a little!**

 **~Blue Rose**

Thanksgiving was always an awkward affair at the Burrow after Harry, Hermione, and Ron graduated.

It wasn't because of the young children running about, or that Hermione often got into arguments with Mrs. Weasley, or that Arthur always fell asleep in the middle of dinner.

If Harry had to guess — not that he really needed to — it would probably be because of who he kept bringing as his date to the Burrow: Draco Malfoy. He thought that the Weasleys would be used to them after four years of their very serious relationship, but Molly still ignored Draco sometimes and Draco's hair was still pink from the year George dyed it when he wasn't looking.

Draco had hoped that his hair would eventually grow back into its natural color, but it grew pink, not blond. Draco was not happy about that.

 _"I'm going to murder Weasley!" Draco yelled. He stormed out of the bathroom, his shoulder-length pink hair in a state of disarray, eyes glinting dangerously._

 _"Gonna have to be more specific than that, hun," Harry said, trying his hardest not to laugh. Draco flipped his boyfriend off and disappeared into the bathroom with a slam of the door, leaving Harry to stifle his laughter behind his hands._

Harry and Draco had news for the Weasleys this year, and it was news that they hoped — well, Harry hoped, as Draco couldn't really care less — would warm the family up to them. Draco told Harry that he'd use the news as a way to get his blond hair back.

Harry had just rolled his eyes and thought, _Slytherins will be Slytherins_.

Draco was busy slicking his dark pink hair back in the bathroom they shared as Harry worked out what to tell the Weasleys. Would they tell Molly first? Or would they just announce it during dinner?

"Stop pacing. You're making me dizzy," Draco drawled from the bathroom doorway. Harry turned, startled, to Draco. He hadn't even realized he'd been pacing. Harry recognized the concern in Draco's impassive, bored face, and he felt himself deflate a little.

"Sorry," Harry muttered distractedly. He scratched his scar absently as he thought about what everyone's reactions would be. Hermione would be glad, if a little worried. Molly would be ecstatic. Ron. . . Ron was a whole other story—

"Don't hurt yourself, love," Draco said. Harry scowled, and Draco smirked. That was another thing that seemed to throw everyone; Harry and Draco still didn't really get along, in the eyes of the Weasleys. To them, a couple should be like Molly and Arthur, completely in love with each other at all times, and they should broadcast it everywhere.

It took Harry and Draco a month — when they were undercover in Siberia — to be able to read each other completely, so they didn't really feel like they needed to act differently if they could just see through it anyways. Harry sometimes forgot that not everyone could tell what they were thinking or how they were feeling, so it seemed like they were constantly at each other's throats.

They really couldn't be farther from the truth.

"Malfoy," Harry snapped. Draco's smirk widened.

"Malfoy," he echoed, fiddling with something on his left hand. Harry rolled his eyes and felt his cheeks warm. He cleared his throat.

"Right, Draco. What are we gonna tell them? Should we tell Molly first? What about Arthur? What if we —" Draco cut him off with a fake yawn. His face grew serious after a moment, though.

"We don't tell anyone, Harry," Draco said sternly, his eyes narrowed. Harry opened his mouth in protest, but Draco held up a hand, effectively stopping whatever rant Harry was about to go on.

"I'm sure somebody will figure it out, corner us about it, and then tell everyone else without our consent. It'll unfold in its own way."

Harry wasn't convinced, but then Draco was standing in front of him, taking both of his hands. Harry looked up at his partner, a slight frown on his face. Draco was all sharp angles and edges, and Harry wanted to touch them and take away the slight crease between his brows that said he was worried. Harry was under no illusions that Draco was worried about the Weasleys' reaction, only about Harry.

"Love," Draco's voice was low and soft, soothing the nerves Harry didn't even know he had. "everything will be fine. Stop worrying, you'll give yourself wrinkles." Harry rolled his eyes.

"What if— what if they don't accept it?" Harry's voice was small, and he was ashamed of himself for a whole two seconds before Draco's usually icy eyes softened. He reached his hand up and brushed the fringe away from Harry's eyes before pressing a chaste kiss to his scar.

"They will. If Mother and Father can, Weasel and She-Weasel can too," Draco murmured. Harry shook his head.

"If you say so, Dra-co," Harry said, and bit his lip.

"What have I told you about rhyming in conversation?" Draco scolded lightly, and Harry couldn't help it— he leaned up and kissed Draco, grinning.

Draco and Harry apparated to the Burrow just as Molly set down the last plate on the dining table outside. Molly looked up at the crack, and she smiled warmly at the boys. She took the plate of cookies Harry was holding and set it down on the table.

"Harry, Mister Malfoy," she greeted. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave Harry a hug. Harry stepped back and saw Draco studying the chicken coop, as if he was a stranger and thought he was going to be ignored.

"Draco," Harry hissed, and the pink-haired man looked up at Molly in surprise. She had half-heartedly reached out to him, her arms open. Harry glared at Draco and crossed his arms, and Draco got the hint.

Plastering a fake smile on his face, Draco leaned down and hugged Molly. His hands were held stiffly near her waist, and she patted his shoulder awkwardly. They stood there for a few moments before breaking apart.

Harry scratched his nose and tried not to laugh. They looked so awkward, but at least they were trying. Besides, he knew that the only person Draco had ever embraced was the Dark Lord and himself. He felt a little smug knowing that he was the only person alive to have done that.

"It's excellent to see you, Mrs. Weasley," Draco said, smoothing down his gray sweater. Harry looked at his own Weasley sweater and wondered when Molly would make Draco one, too.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you looking so well," Molly said politely. Draco inclined his head to her, and then the three of them were walking inside the house.

The rest of the Weasleys arrived sometime after that, kids in tow and plates in hand. Hermione, Ginny, Molly, Angelina, and Fleur disappeared into the library to discuss whatever it was that women discussed at these things.

That left Dean, Harry, Draco, Ron, Bill, George, and Arthur to take the kids and sit in the garden. If Harry was being honest with himself, it was more than a little awkward. It seemed that Harry was going to have to get used to that.

Dean and Bill got up for drinks and to tell off Victorie for pushing Teddy off his toy broom. George had been strangely quiet, studying Draco closer than he normally did. Finally, after a few minutes of sitting in silence, George cleared his throat.

"So, Harry, got something you want to tell us?" he asked nonchalantly, one eyebrow raised. Harry glanced at Draco, who had a slight smile on his face that a lot of people mistook for a smirk.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling his throat close up, and Draco discreetly grabbed his hand, and suddenly everything felt better.

"Yeah, actually," Harry started. George was grinning, of course, like he already knew what Harry was going to say. "Draco and I have something to tell you."

"Before their hair's gray, love," Draco murmured. Harry shot him a look of amusement and irritation before turning back to the people he called his family.

"We're getting married," Harry said. Ron and Arthur had similar expressions of shock and confusion. George was openly laughing at that point, and Bill had chosen that moment to walk back into the room. Bill shook his head, turned back around and left.

"Well then. This is awkward," Ron said. Harry looked at him.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Mum's been trying to figure out how to tell you that you don't have to pretend to be in a relationship," Ron explained, looking uncomfortable.

"What? She thinks we're not actually together? Why?" Harry asked. Draco snorted.

"You never kiss each other. You never give any indication that you're in love," George said, having recovered from his laughing fit.

"I didn't think she'd really want to see that," Harry said, dumbfounded. Suddenly, everything made sense. The way Molly acted around Draco and how everyone seemed to think they weren't serious about each other.

"That's flattering," Draco said flatly.

"I — but how — what didn't we do —" Harry stuttered. He felt like it had always been Draco, and he couldn't really remember a time when it wasn't that way.

"Well, we'll just have to prove it to her, won't we?" Draco asked, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that Harry recognized with a sigh.

At the end of Thanksgiving, Molly believed them and congratulated them on their engagement — though she was a little flustered and wouldn't really meet their eyes. Draco was smug, while Harry was more embarrassed than anything.

Come next Thanksgiving, Draco had his own Weasley sweater that Harry forced him into, and Draco's hair wasn't pink anymore. Harry was nervously fiddling with his wedding ring as George stared at him.

"So, Harry, got something you want to tell us?" George asked. Harry nearly groaned. How is it that George always knows, Harry thought for a moment, before deciding that it didn't really matter.

"Well," Harry started. He shared a look with Draco just as Bill walked in the room. Some things, Harry thought, would never change. Harry opened his mouth with a small smile on his face.


	29. It's Possible

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Themed- Goodbye**

 **Prompt: ""So, I did a pregnancy charm…:" [Speech]"**

 **Word count: 611**

 **Title: It's Possible**

 **Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. I didn't write Harry Potter and I am not writing this for profit.**

 **~Blue Rose**

"So, I did a pregnancy charm. . . : it came back negative. Again," Narcissa said vehemently, her head bowed in anger. She knew exactly what would happen if she couldn't bear an heir for the Malfoy line in the next year. She'd conveniently disappear so her husband wouldn't be bound to a woman who offered nothing to the Malfoy line.

She had three months to become pregnant before her whole life was tossed aside. That didn't really inspire hope.

"I see," Lucius said slowly. However much Narcissa hated Abraxas Malfoy, she at least knew that Lucius cared for her in some way.

The room was quiet except for the grandfather clock in the far corner of the sitting room. Narcissa's tea was getting cold, but she couldn't really bring herself to drink it. This could be her final year with the man she loved. But she knew that Lucius would protect her.

He always protected his own.

"We can work it out," Lucius said suddenly, breaking the suffocating silence. Narcissa let out a slow breath and closed her eyes.

"How?" Narcissa asked, a bitter edge to her voice. "We cannot adopt, because the child won't be of Malfoy blood. Surrogate mothers are rare these days, and who'd want to have the next Malfoy, Lucius?" Her words grew more anxious as she spoke, all of her emotions slipping through her stoic mask, and her insult went ignored.

"Don't fret, 'Cissa darling. I'm here. We'll work everything out. You'll see," Lucius soothed. He took Narcissa in both of his arms and placed a gentle kiss against her temple. She simply melted at the touch, though she knew the man who held her didn't love her quite the same way she loved him.

"I'm. . . scared, Lucius. What if I can't. . .?" Narcissa whispered the words. In Slytherin, you never revealed that you were afraid, lest someone hear you and remember it later. She knew that, but this was Lucius.

Lucius, who had taken her in when she was a tiny little first year and made her feel loved and safe; made her laugh when she needed it; lent her his cloak when she was cold; got her Pepper-up potions when she was too weak to get them herself.

Lucius wouldn't use her fears against her. He was the one who wiped away her tears when she was a young girl and told her it would be okay.

"I know, 'Cissa. I'm here," Lucius said softly. And she was thankful.

* * *

Narcissa looked down at the little angel in her arms, a tired smile gracing her features. She was propped up on a few pillows so she could hold her son.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, welcome to the world," she whispered to the blond baby. Draco's fingers gripped one of hers in his sleep and she giggled quietly.

"Narcissa, we made that," Lucius said from her side. His voice sounded awed. "We made a baby."

Narcissa resisted the urge to laugh aloud.

"I'm aware, Lucius," she said, her lips quirking at the corners.

"Draco," Lucius breathed. He lifted one pale finger and brushed it down the baby's nose, and Draco sneezed. Lucius smiled.

"I won't have to say goodbye anymore, Lucius. I'm here for you, and Draco," Narcissa said, and her husband looked at her with adoring eyes.

"I'm glad," Lucius said. Narcissa sighed softly and looked back down at Draco.

"Thank you, Draco," Narcissa murmured, too softly for anyone except herself to hear. She didn't have to say goodbye anymore. She owed her entire world to the tiny bundle of joy in her arms.

She didn't know it was possible to love another human being so much.


	30. Then It Didn't Matter

**House: Hufflepuff**

 **Category: Drabble (extra Prefect fill)**

 **Prompt: "Dinner party [Event]"**

 **Word count: 664**

 **Title: Then It Didn't Matter**

 **Disclaimer: I do not write this for profit. I'm not JK Rowling, I don't own Harry Potter. Blah blah blah.**

 **A/N: This fits in with the chapter titled "Some Things Never Change." I couldn't just leave it like that. So, I wrote a sort-of prequel, but you don't have to read the sequel-ish thingy to understand what's happening here. It works completely on its own, but provides some extra details for "Some Things Never Change." I personally loved writing these, it was really fun. I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! Please review!**

 **~Blue Rose**

Draco hated dinner parties. It was something everyone who knew him knew. He hated feeling obligated to be kind and respectful; hated plastering on a smile and shaking hands with people he wanted to strangle.

Harry knew that Draco hated dinner parties. Harry respected Draco's wishes, most of the time.

That's why Harry had to repeat himself when he asked if Draco wanted to go to the Weasleys' house that year for Thanksgiving.

"I'm sorry, what?" Draco asked, not believing his ears.

"Draco, you know that we'll have to face Molly and Arthur sooner or later. And it's more like a regular dinner, anyway," Harry said, already exasperated.

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not repeating myself," Draco said, sneering. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Draco, why not? It's not going to be that bad," Harry insisted. Draco snorted.

"Something terrible will happen. I know it will, and I value my private bits, thank you very much."

"Yeah? Well, I value them too, so no one will do anything to them. I promise," Harry said drily. He smirked and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Can you make them promise, too?" he asked. Harry nodded. Of course he was lying but Draco supposed that he could let it go just the one time.

Draco had known that he wouldn't get off without being turned into a ferret or perhaps pushed into the oven. He just didn't think that the remaining Weasley twin would dare mess with his hair.

Nobody messed with Draco's hair. Unless it was Harry, but he was the only exception.

"Er, Draco?" Harry asked hesitantly, some point during desert. Draco turned to his boyfriend with something like dread settling in his stomach.

"Yes, dear?" Draco braced himself for the worst. _His nose was crooked. He had an oozing pimple. He had wrinkles._

"Don't freak out—" Draco absently thought that telling someone not to freak out was not an effective way to calm someone down. "but your hair's, well, sort of pink."

Draco froze. Harry did not just say that. It couldn't be true. His hair was always perfect. Never wind-blown, and never oily.

Never _pink_.

"What?!" Draco yelled. He sprung up from his seat and ran to the nearest bathroom, barreling through the door.

He looked in the mirror and his worst fears were confirmed. Framing his pale face, his once platinum-blonde hair was dark pink. He took a moment to just stare.

 _Well, it could be worse_ , Draco thought. He heard loud laughter from the dining room and his blood boiled, taking back his previous thought.

"Potter!" Draco yelled. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the mirror, as much as he wanted to run back to the dining room and hex the Weasley twin. It was obvious that the man was responsible for this—this plebeian prank!

"Yes, hun?" Harry called back cautiously. Draco heard the Weasel and She-Weasel sniggering.

"Get in here! Now!" Draco ordered. He heard Harry's ungraceful steps make the short trip to the bathroom he was in.

"Look, I'm really sorry, Draco. I can convince George to turn it back—" Harry started when Draco cut him off with a glare.

"No. I'm fine," Draco said haughtily. He lifted his chin and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Draco, stop being so prideful. There's nothing wrong with asking for help," Harry said sternly. Draco sniffed.

"I don't need help. I—I like it, anyway," Draco lied. Harry saw straight through it and raised his eyebrow in a way that made Draco proud.

"You like it?" Harry echoed incredulously. The man crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"Yes. But we're never going to another one of these dinner parties again," Draco told Harry.

So, naturally, they kept going back every year, whether or not Draco wanted to because he was stupidly in love with Harry. If Harry went somewhere, Draco went, too.

And if Harry said that Draco looked good with pink hair, then it didn't really matter what everyone else thought about it.


End file.
